


All I ask

by YesBucky (Dooba)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Awesome Charlie Bradbury, Bad Flirting, Comic-Con, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Frottage, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Like really minor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Past Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Physical Disability, Some homophobic slurs from John, Some mentions of violence, Weelchair!Dean, actor!Castiel, dealing with chronic pain, don't read the tags if you want to be surprised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23311660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dooba/pseuds/YesBucky
Summary: Dean has saved up all year to be able to go to UniCon comic con to see his favorite actor from the popular show Coven, Castiel Novak. Dean’s been lusting after the openly gay actor for years, and now he will finally get the chance to meet the man up close. Things do not go as planned, but when do they ever. His name’s Dean Winchester, after all.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 88
Kudos: 193





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2015 after Misha Collins got robbed at MinnCon and his pretty face was hurt so badly. I just had to write some fluff and considering the current state of affairs in the world I decided to share it. I wrote this as a self-indulgent guilty pleasure fic. Also I’ve never watched a single episode of SPN but I love the show and these guys, and the fandom. I hope I’m doing them justice :)
> 
> Title is from Adele's All I Ask; chapter titles are MomDuckie's fault. Thank you Sri, Krystel and Flipped for encouraging (*cough*bullying*cough*) me to post this.

“You all packed, boy?” Bobby asks. He’s standing in the doorway and watches as Dean moves about his room, putting the final things in his bag.

“Yes, I think I have everything. I’ll make a sign for the photo op once I’m there. Saves the hassle on the plane.”

Bobby looks him over. “You sure you don’t need anyone to come with ya?”

Dean stares back just as hard. “I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy, you know.”

“All right then. Let me drop you off at the airport at least.”

“That would be great, Bobby. Thanks.”

The trip to the airport is uneventful. They talk shop for a while, about the projects that Dean has lined up. He's becoming a real expert in classic cars, and people are starting to seek him out specifically to work on their prized vehicles. There’s a 1972 Buick GSX coming in after the weekend, and Dean’s been doing some research on how to best go about the repairs for that car. His dream is to start his own business someday, buying classic cars, restoring them and selling them for a profit. Of course that means he needs a little money to get started - something that is going to take a while.

When they’re done discussing next week’s plan, Bobby and Dean sit in comfortable silence. It’s one of the things Dean loves so much about Bobby - he likes the quiet just as much. Bobby, his boss, his makeshift dad and mentor. Dean isn't sure how to thank him enough for everything he's done.

The goodbye at the airport is an easy, gruff-muttered “have fun, take care.” Dean will only be gone for four days, not very long at all. But it's the first time he's traveled alone in all his life, so no matter that he's twenty five - Bobby’s gonna fuss at least a little bit. Dean secretly loves it.

He breezes through customs and before he knows it, he’s at the gate. It’s when the plane starts to take off that nerves start to dance in his stomach. He doesn’t like flying, turns out. He didn’t like the thought of it, and he’s not liking being in an actual plane at all, either. Sweat beads at his temples as the flying metal tube of death leaves the tarmac and lifts off into the air. Dean closes his eyes and counts to twenty, trying to relax as much as he can. It’ll be all right, he tells himself. Flying is statistically the safest way of transportation.

Doesn’t stop his stomach from roiling. His shirt is sticking to his back and his fingers are cramping from holding on to the armrests so tightly.

“First time?” the woman next to him says sympathetically.

Dean nods, but he’s not able to speak.

The woman sends him a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine. I used to be scared, too. Distraction always helped.”

To do just that, Dean pointedly Does Not Look Outside and focuses on the goal of his journey. He’s about to go to his very first comic con, where the actors of his favorite show will gather for interviews and autographs. Dean’s been saving up for this for the better part of a year, and he got himself access to the panels and a good hotel room. He also has some autographs with the regular actors and a photo op with the protagonist and his favorite of the show: Castiel Novak.

Dean settles in the crappy plane seat as comfortably as his frazzled nerves allow him and plays one of his favorite episodes on his phone to help him pass the time. It’s the one where Castiel’s character Emmanuel is introduced. Dean loves both the character and the man behind it. They also couldn’t be more different. He’s seen countless Youtube videos of panels and interviews so he feels like he has a good idea of the man both when he’s acting and when he’s himself. He can’t wait to see what Castiel, the man, will be like in person. As much as he’ll be able to actually speak to him. From what he’s heard, there won’t be much time to talk at all.

He thinks of the experiences he’s read from others. He’s in a tightly knit Facebook group where everyone is generally super kind to each other and where they discuss episodes, fan art and fan theories. He knows a few people from that group who are going to this con, too. Some have been to other comic cons before. From their stories, Dean knows everything will be carefully timed, carefully controlled, and there won’t be much time to talk to the actors. But he can go to the panels and hear them talk there. Maybe he will meet some of the group members who are going, though he's been holding that off.

But Charlie he is meeting. Charlie, a mouthy pipsqueak of a girl. They hit it off right away when they met online and they’ve spent hours in private chats and on phone calls, away from the crowded group, and when she learned he was going to this conference too, she offered immediately to guide him through. It’s her third time going, and she has more money to spend on photos and autographs. She has better seating as well, but hey, it's all about money, and Dean simply doesn't have that much to spare.

Dean’s happy with his one photo opportunity. It was all he could afford. If he can get Cas to smile at him, he thinks he’ll be able to die a happy man.

Out of the plane, he collects his bag. He comes through the big double doors, a throng of waiting people’s gazes flitting over him before they move on scanning the people exiting the arrival hall, excited to see their loved ones coming off the plane. Nobody’s waiting for Dean here. He’s focused on finding his way to the taxi station so he can get a cab to his hotel, when he suddenly hears his name being called. He knows that voice, even if it has just been through the phone for the past year or so.

“Dean!”

Up rushes a tiny, tiny girl with bright red hair and a pronounced jawline. She’s positively beaming at him and nearly crushes him in a hug he didn’t see coming at all.

“Eh, hi,” he says, a little dazed by the welcome. “Wow, Charlie. What a way to meet.” He’s flustered and caught off guard. He looks down at the bag in his lap, then back up at her. She looks exactly like he expected from her pictures. She’s just even smaller than he anticipated, but her whole body is vibrating with the same energy as she talks with.

She smiles.

“Bad surprise?” she says kindly.

“I… No!” But… you know. He pulls himself together and takes both her hands to squeeze them. “Thanks, though. I’m just really caught off guard.”

She beams at him again. “I know. I should’ve warned you. I just couldn’t wait any longer. And hey, I don’t get to push people around all that often, so humor me?”

She’s behind Dean’s wheelchair a moment later, and before he can protest, has taken over from the airport staff - pushing his chair with one hand and pulling her suitcase with the other.

“I have trouble imagining you not pushing people around all the time,” Dean says at last, when he’s found his voice again. Charlie’s stronger than he thought, and she’s keeping up a brisk pace, navigating them through the crowded airport.

“Yeah, well. Maybe. But hey,” she says, looking down so he can meet her gaze over his shoulder. “I hope you were happy to see me,” she adds, insecurity lacing through her voice now.

“Of course I am! Christ, I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick. I had just hoped I was going to be standing up when I saw you first.”

Charlie says nothing - they’ve talked about this at length during their phone calls. She knows all about his insecurity when it comes to his stupid chair.

She squeezes his shoulder. “When we’re at the hotel, you’re going to get to your feet and hug me properly,” she promises. “So, tell me more. Are you all set for tomorrow?”

Dean grins, suddenly shy. “I hope so. I think I have something to say on my sign for the photo op as well.”

“Ooh, tell me,” she coaxes. “No wait, tell me in the cab.” They’re at the taxi area, and Dean gets to skip the line. Having a fucked up body has its perks, sometimes.

Once they’re seated, and Charlie has given the driver the address to the hotel, she turns to Dean. “Don’t get pissy, but I changed my room so it’s next to yours.” She blushes and looks down. “I kinda hoped we got along as well in real life as digitally, and I figured we should make the most of the time we have here.”

Dean grins at her. “I’m not even surprised,” he says. Charlie is so awesome. And even in the fifteen minutes they’ve been together, she’s made as much as a non-issue about his chair as she had been doing on the phone. It’s refreshing. He’s also incredibly happy to have a familiar face close to him for the next few days. As much as he’s held up a brave face for Bobby and Sam, he’s been secretly shitting himself since the day he booked the tickets. Even after twelve years, he’s still not used to the looks he gets from strangers.

“So tell me about your sign,” she says.

“Well,” Dean starts, and when he tells her about the idea, she squeals.

“That is perfect!”

“Worried about judgmental faces though,” he says. “People are gonna say I’m a fake.”

“Fuck them,” Charlie says so sharply the taxi driver shoots her a look through the rearview mirror. “And ‘sides, I’ll be there with you. I’ll be your handler.”

“Oh my God, that sounds so Winter Soldier,” Dean groans, and Charlie giggles. “But we’ll have to notify the organization though. I’ve told them I would come alone.”

“It’ll be fine,” Charlie says. “You let me deal with that when we get there.”

The taxi drive goes quickly with how much they’re talking, and Charlie helps Dean check in at the hotel in such a non-assuming way he can finally relax a little. She really is as awesome in real life as she has been online, and he’s already hoping they will meet again someday.

He knows that Charlie is completely in awe with one of the actresses on the show, Gilda. She has three photo ops with her and two autographs. She’s spending a lot of money, and justifies it by saying she doesn’t have any hobbies that cost her money. Charlie has a well paying job building and maintaining databases for web shops, and she’s always saving up to go to her next comic con.

“Okay,” she says when they’ve reached their floor. “I don’t know about you, but I need a shower and a nap. You can manage from here, right?”

“Sure,” Dean says. “Thanks for not fussing, by the way.”

“As long as you tell me when you do need help,” she says easily. “So how about we meet here at five? We can go register downstairs and then go for dinner or something? There’s a karaoke bar a few blocks away that I’d like to check out tonight if you want to join?”

“Let me think about that,” Dean says. He shifts subtly in his seat to see how his back is feeling. Not very grand, after that plane ride. With some effort, he unlocks his hotel room door. “Oh, could you…”

Before he’s finished asking his question, Charlie’s already slipped by him so she can hold open the heavy door for him. She waits for him with a smile while Dean rolls into the room and puts his breaks on his chair. Then he uses his arms to heft himself to his feet.

“See, I’m totally taller than you,” he smirks, referring to a joke they’ve been making on the phone for months.

She grins up at him and then her slender arms wrap around his back. She gives him a serious hug, squeezing his ribs. Bless her for keeping her grip away from his lower back, too. He kisses the top of her head. She smells like mango shampoo and airplane. It feels so good to hold her like this, he holds on a little while longer, just to savor the feeling of having his best friend in his arms.

When they pull back, they’re both smiling. “It’s so good to finally meet you,” she says. “If we weren’t totally gay I’d try to flirt with you. Damn, dude, those pictures you sent didn’t do you justice at all.”

He blushes under her praise and ducks his head.

“Okay. Shower calls. See ya,” she says, and she closes the door behind her with a soft click.

Dean exhales. The hotel room is spacious. He spent a little more on accommodations in the hopes of having a decent bed, and it shows in the layout of the room. He steps around his chair and pushes it further into the room, then picks a crutch from its holder at the back. Using it to keep himself upright, he takes his time putting his clothes away. He makes sure everything’s unpacked and settled, and his phone is plugged in and charging before he lets himself fall onto the bed.

The pain in his back, when the strained muscles are relaxing, is blinding at first. He pulls up his legs to ease the pain a little and gets his phone. He sends some quick texts to Bobby and his brother Sam to let him know he’s arrived safely and that Charlie came to meet him. They know about her, and they love her as Dean’s friend even if they’ve never even heard her voice. Dean loves them for it.

Then he pulls up his Facebook app and lets the people in his group know he arrived, too. Others comment that they’re almost there or already checked in. A few people urge him to post a picture of himself, so they can all meet, and Dean smiles sadly. He tells them, like every time, he suffers from anxiety too much.

In a way, he does. He is shy, and paranoid about what people will think when they see him. He hasn’t told anyone in the group about his chair. Nobody needs to know. He can share the others’ experiences through the group, and seeing the people around him enjoy themselves will be enough, he’s sure. Besides, it would be super weird to only now tell them he’s wheelchair bound. Some of those group members have known him for over two years. He doesn’t want them to think he’s been lying.

He then checks twitter to see a tweet from Castiel.

_Checked in just now. Nice staff at this place! Can’t wait for UniCon to commence._

Dean smiles.

**Hope you had a safe trip. Excited for your panel tomorrow.**

He doesn’t bother to see if Castiel responds - he never has done so far. But he always tries to send a nice message, not stalkerish or creepy like those ‘dad’-responses that always seem to pop up moments after Castiel posts something.

Dean drifts off after that, his dreams filled with the sharp stabs of pain that always come from his lower back after an exhausting day. He wakes to his alarm at four thirty. He knows he needs to shower and meet Charlie, but he’s so fucking tired and his back aches. He considers pushing through, but he knows he’ll be a wreck tomorrow if he does.

He sends Charlie a message.

**Bummed. Back aches so f*ckin much. Can’t go out if I wanna do tomorrow.**

He expects her to be sleeping, but instead, she replies right away.

_Is this an invitation to room service and the two bottles of wine I snuck into the hotel? Please say yes._

He grins.

**Yes. Lemme shower first though.**

_Holler when you’re ready!_

Dean is still smiling when he heaves himself off the bed. He weaves through the hotel room to the bathroom, holding onto the walls, then curses up a storm because his toiletries are still in his suitcase. He goes back for them and then undresses, seated on the rim of the tub. The shower helps wash away some stress, and he takes his pain medication once he’s out, then texts Charlie that he’s ready to receive his audience.

They have a great night. The bottles of wine disappear, and then she produces a third bottle from god knows where. Dean is so far gone that the pain in his back is just a mere nuisance, and they talk about everything and anything, just as freely as they have done over the phone for so long.

He even shows her some of the scars on his back, caused by the many surgeries he’s had to put his spine back in alignment and his pelvis back in place. She doesn’t show any pity, for which he is grateful. Instead, they have a laugh about the hassle he caused when he went through security.

The subject then moves to something they both enjoy talking about; their favorite show Coven. It has been running for ten seasons, and it was just announced there will be at least two seasons more.

“Imagine though,” Charlie says, her voice slurred slightly from wine. “I have my photo op with Gilda, and she looks at me and I tell her, I love you, and her face will light up and she’ll ask me for my number.” But Gilda isn’t lesbian or even bisexual, so Charlie knows that she won’t stand a chance.

“Imagine,” Dean says, smiling wistfully. “Imagine Castiel noticing me. Me, I mean. Not the chair.”

“Maybe he will,” Charlie muses. “You’re so special, how can he not?”

Dean throws his head back and laughs. “Just as likely as Gilda turning gay for you.”

“Hey,” Charlie says, pouting. “She might.”

Dean raises his glass to Charlie’s in a salute. “She might.”

He’s pretty much hammered when Charlie retreats back to her room for the night, and Dean hopes the alcohol will help him sleep. But the mattress is not as good as the one he has at home, and no matter what he does, he’s not drifting off. The alcohol wears off as well, its retreat hastened by the pain flaring in his back. It’s loud in his brain, making his ears ring.

He probably needs to move around a little, get his cramped up muscles to loosen up. He gets his crutches, his phone and his coat, and leaves the room. He walks slowly, leaning his weight heavily on his sticks. His most trusted companions, he thinks wryly.

When he arrives downstairs, there’s only two people working at the reception desk. Dean imagines them looking as he walks by, step by shuffling step, but he ignores them as he crosses the lobby and leaves the hotel. He knows, on a rational level, that they’re probably only watching him to see if he’s managing okay. But even after all this time he’s still not used to the stares.

It’s cool outside, the crisp autumn air lightening his headache immediately. His body revels at being upright, and Dean can actually feel his muscles relax a little now that he’s working them, making the blood flow through his limbs. He hobbles around a little, then decides to see if he can make it to the corner of the block just to see what’s there. The street is quiet - it’s 4am and most people are sleeping.

When he gets to the corner, several things happen at once. He hears a shout and then some scuffling, and then when his eyes adjust to the darkness he sees a man trying to defend himself from an attack of three other guys. But then he’s kicked from behind and he goes down, helped along by the two others. They’re shouting at him and kicking him.

Dean can’t see the victim’s face, but this is bad. The guy is folded in on himself, covering his head with his arms. There’s no way the guy can fight back now - he’s outnumbered. Dean makes haste to cross the distance between himself and the attackers.

“Hey!” he shouts. “Get off him! Fuck off!”

One of the guys looks up, unimpressed. Dean shouts again, and then, in a fit of rage at the injustice - he hates violence in any way, shape or form - he gets one of his crutches and swings. It lands on one of the guy’s backs, and the impact is so hard it actually breaks.

“Fuck!” the guy shouts, rounding on Dean. But Dean has another stick, and he uses that to lash out again. The guy catches his stick mid-swing, pulls it out of Dean’s hands and throws it to the ground. With a distinct crack, the handle breaks. But Dean is hardly noticing it. He takes a wobbly step forward to push the asshole away. But another guy is first and he tries to punch Dean. Dean blocks, preventing a black eye. The guy then kicks Dean, right against his hip.

There’s is too much adrenalin for pain.

By now, the victim has gotten back to his feet.

“Go, before I get really mad,” he says. His voice is low like gravel, and even if his face is a bloody mess, Dean knows that voice.

It’s Castiel Novak’s voice.

His breath falters as he looks at the man. The attackers are already leaving, running away like the cowards they are.

Castiel sinks back to his knees, one hand coming up to touch his face gingerly.

Dean takes another step forward and falls down to his knees painfully in front of him. “Hey, you okay?” he asks.

Castiel looks up, and his eyes are so fucking blue it’s not even fucking fair. Dean can see it even in the dark of the alley, through the blood that’s coating his nose and chin. Castiel looks shaken though, stunned into silence.

“They got you pretty bad,” Dean says. He’s shaking himself and tries to keep his voice level. “I’ll call you an ambulance, okay? Here.” He reaches into his back pocket for his handkerchief. “It’s clean. Keep it.”

Castiel lifts the white cotton to his face and frowns at the blood when he pulls it back. Dean gets out his phone to call 911, but then he hears an alarmed shout, again. Suddenly there are many people surrounding Castiel and Dean is forced to the periphery. He sits back against the dirty alley wall, shielded by shadows. His crutches lie scattered, broken and forgotten.

The people around Castiel help him to his feet and all but carry him away. Dean is still trying to catch his breath. By now, the pain from the kick he received is starting to register, a glaring alarm bell at the back of his brain. He takes a breath and holds it for a few seconds, then blows it out through puffed cheeks.

Holy hell, batman. Did he just really save Castiel Novak from being mugged?

He wants to tweet about it, or put it in the Facebook group, and he already has his phone out when he decides against it. There were no witnesses but the guys who actually attacked him and the people who helped him just now. Dean should give Castiel a chance to tell his own story first.

So instead, he calls Charlie.

“What the fuck, Dean. Do you know what fuckin’ time it is?” she says by way of greeting.

“Yeah, funny story,” Dean says, just as deadpan. “Can you come get me at the alleyway right of the hotel entrance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear from you!


	2. What got us here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We have to tweet it. He needs to know it was you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you are enjoying this little story! I've never been at a con so I hope I didn't fib this too badly. It's also mostly unbeta'ed. Enjoy!

He’s a broken shell of a human body that morning. He had to shower again before he could go to bed, and that was only _after_ Charlie had kept him up for about another hour or so to tell him every single detail of what had happened. She did go over to reception to get him an ice pack for the bruise on his hip, bless her soul.

“Did he ask your name?”

“No, we didn’t speak at all. I wanted to call 911 but never even got to that.”

“We have to tweet it. He needs to know it was you.”

Dean had shaken his head. “We don’t even know if he wants to keep it quiet, Charles. I don’t want to be the one to circulate that story.”

Charlie’d chewed on her lip, then shrugged and conceded. “We need to get you into bed though. The first panels are at nine.”

“There is no way I am going to make that first panel,” Dean had said. “You can go without me. Besides, I’ll still have to register and everything. I never got to that yesterday.”

“I can help with that, get registered as your handler.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean had said. “You go to the 9 am panel and I get checked in. We’ll meet each other there and we can get everything sorted.”

He’d been so confident he could manage on his own when he went to bed, but now, in the morning, with barely four hours of sleep under his belt, he wonders what the hell he was thinking. He ends up injecting himself with the extra strong painkillers he has, just for emergencies like this. There’s a big bruise on his hip where the guy kicked him last night. It aches with every move, and his knees are smarting, stiff. Dean wonders again if he should go to the police but then again, he still wants to protect Castiel’s privacy.

He just hopes the screws holding his bones together aren’t fucked.

Hotels are kinda nice to navigate in his chair, though. The short haired carpet is easy to wheel over and there are no thresholds anywhere to be found. He booked his room in the hotel where the convention is, so he doesn’t have to travel far. The rooms were available at a discount too for con goers.

The papers he needs for his registration and his assistance are in his bag, which is on his lap. He’s confident he can handle this, even if he’s nervous about it since he's lost his crutches. Having to spend the entire weekend in his chair was not how he envisioned things to go.

The breakfast bar is open till ten and easy to be found at the top floor of the hotel. Booking the breakfast with the room had been his brother Sammy’s idea, and he had paid for it as well, the idiot. But now that Dean can easily get some toast and a cup of coffee without any fuss, he's incredibly happy that Sam had put his foot down.

He texts Charlie that he’s on his way downstairs after he's had his fill. She lets him know right away she’s enjoying the first panel, with actors from the show Dean is less invested in. He would’ve loved to see the panel, but his health is more important than that. He knows that Charlie has paid extra for good seating and he doesn’t want her to miss out on anything. He’s truly glad that she’s having a great time.

She’s a total hoot. He’s already so happy to have met her, and he knows this will really cement their friendship for a long time to come.

There’s no line at the registration desk when he gets there, so he can roll right up and get everything sorted.

“Did you bring someone to assist you?” the lady at the desk asks.

“Well, no, but my friend Charlie is here. She’s got an emerald ticket and she’s at the panel now. She helps me out with some stuff.”

The lady looks him over, and then her face breaks into a smile so gentle it warms his heart. “If you need any help, don’t be scared to ask. We have designated spots for you to sit at the panels, and a separate queue for photo ops and autographs. How many do you have?”

“I just have a basic ticket,” Dean says, a little shy. “So, some autos. And one photo op.”

“Just make sure you arrive on time,” she advises. “The next panel starts at eleven, though we’re not quite sure yet if it’ll go through. Castiel Novak was attacked last night.”

Dean’s heart slams in his throat at the mention of Castiel’s name. He’s stunned speechless, remembering the way he’d helped the man and chased his attackers away. But he hadn’t even looked around at Dean when he was whisked away by those other people, so he doubts Castiel even realized Dean was there.

“It was nasty,” she says, reacting to his response, “but I’m sure he’ll be all right. You can wait here in the hall for the next panel,” she continues. “They have pretty decent coffee at the hotel bar, too.”

Dean’s face lights up at that, and he thanks her, then makes his way to said hotel bar. When he checks the prices though, he scowls. He has, like, a hundred bucks of spending money, and that includes food, for four days. Charlie paid for the room service last night, however much Dean protested, so he has a little to spare, but he wants to be careful with his money all the same.

So instead, he goes back to the main hall and finds himself a spot out of the way to dick around on his phone a little until the doors open and he can go inside for his panel. He was too tired last night and at breakfast this morning to check his phone for more than just to see if Castiel had tweeted, which he hadn’t, but now he's checking Facebook and the stories are running rampant.

He was mugged, some say. He was shitfaced drunk, others imply. They hope he's all right. Someone knows from a friend of a friend who talked to someone who told her that his lip is split and his face a mess. People are upset. Worried that he won't be able to do his panels and photo ops. Some are stating he must’ve brought it onto himself. It’s victim blaming at its worst and it makes bile rise in Dean’s throat.

Some complain on Tumblr that their photo op will be ruined if Castiel’s face is wounded. They get such vile responses that Dean wonders who exactly is the bad guy in this situation. Dean just feels sick to his stomach with worry and guilt. Did he do the right thing last night? Should he have called 911 anyway? Or should he just disappear into anonymity and let it all go? He made eye contact with Castiel, which was something he never dared to dream of. Even if Castiel will never know who Dean is, Dean hopes he will remember the man who helped him.

He sees Charlie responding to some of the messages, but she's proving a trustworthy friend because she never once hints at knowing what really happened last night. She just voices her own concern about his well being and the hope that he will be well enough to do the panel.

Charlie comes out of the first panel and picks up Dean to help him to the seats designated for those who need assistance, and then tells him she’s going to stay close to him.

“But you paid for better seats,” Dean protests.

“But you're the best possible company,” Charlie counters. They sit in anxious silence as they wait to see if Castiel will do the panel, or if a spokesperson will come out to say he won't be able to attend.

About fifteen minutes after the interview should have started, someone comes on the stage. It's not Castiel, and a ripple of anxiety goes through the audience.

“Castiel Novak was involved in an incident last night,” the representative starts. Immediately there is so much noise that he has to wait for a few moments for the people in the room to calm down again. “He sustained some injuries and is still recovering from that. His panel with Gilda Locasta has been moved to 5 pm this afternoon, and you are welcome to attend. His photo ops will be after that. Castiel wants to let you know he is terribly sorry that the program can't take place as planned. He hopes for your patience and flexibility. Those who cannot make it to the panel or the photo ops are welcome to make themselves known with one of the staff. Thank you.”

The man starts to walk off the stage.

“What the fuck,” Dean says, just as someone in the audience calls loudly: “but is he okay?”

The guy simply proceeds to _walk off the stage_.

“What. The. Fuck,” Dean repeats.

“I know right,” Charlie mutters. There's chaos in the audience, some people are shouting, others are even crying.

Dean’s stomach twists. “This is bad.”

“Maybe not. He's going to do the panel later. So that means he's probably fine. Or at least well enough to do that.”

“You know how he is. That guy is an angel incarnate. He will probably do anything to make sure the fans can meet him.”

“He has people surrounding him,” Charlie says, reading Dean’s worry correctly. “They will prevent him from doing too much, I’m sure.”

Dean isn't so confident, but he lets himself be soothed by Charlie’s words.

“So, for now we have two hours to kill,” she continues. “Wanna explore town a little? Or did you want to try and find a new set of crutches?”

Dean shakes his head. “I'll be fine. I'll get them at my own shop in Kansas.” He doesn't say he doesn't have the money for new sticks. He'll have to talk to Bobby to see if he can get a loan or something.

They end up going out for a while. It's warmer outside - even for autumn - and Dean wheels himself next to Charlie. Makes for easier conversation, too. It's when they arrive at a cluster of bars that he suddenly hears: “Hey, is that Charlie from the group?”

There’s a group of people standing just a few yards away, and Dean recognizes some of them from the Facebook group they just mentioned. The group he is in, too.

“Shit,” Dean mutters. ”Charlie, I’m going to go lie down for a bit at the hotel, okay?”

But his attempt to escape is futile, because Charlie is suddenly surrounded by people and she doesn’t hear him.

“Charlie,” Dean says, a little louder now. “I’m gonna go lie down for a while.”

Charlie hears him this time and she looks at him, her face unreadable. “You can stay, you know,” she says.

They’ve talked about this. About how Dean has never once mentioned on Facebook that he’s in a wheelchair most of the time. People know his name, they know he’s a mechanic and that he lives with his boss slash surrogate dad in Kansas, but that’s about it. And that stays about it, as far as he’s concerned. Charlie though has been trying to convince him for months to ‘come out’ as it were. Not the closet, because everybody knows he’s gay and hot for Castiel, but his chair. So to speak.

Her face is pleading, but her gaze is also clear: I won’t tell if you won’t.

By now, people have noticed him, too, and they look from Charlie to Dean.

“Hi, I’m Jo,” a girl says. And Dean recognizes her immediately from her Facebook profile pic. “Any friend of Charlie’s is a friend of ours,” she declares with a smile. “What’s your name?”

Dean looks at Charlie again, and she sends him an encouraging look. He takes a deep breath and tries for a smile. “I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.”

The group explodes in exclamations and cheers. Many of them recognize him and suddenly they’re all crowding around him, some even kneeling so they’re more on eye level with him. And Dean knows them all, too; Ellen, Rufus, Rhonda, Jody, Anna, Garth. Benny isn’t here, but Dean knew he wouldn’t be coming. Shame - apart from Charlie he’s the only one he really knows, and who knows about him. His smile changes from tentative to real when they all want to hug him and tell him personally how much they love meeting him for real.

“But you never told us about the wheelchair,” Ellen says, voice kind.

Dean shrugs helplessly. “It’s not important.”

Thankfully, they get the message that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and then they all end up going to a diner to have some lunch. It’s a cheap little joint, but clean and cosy, and they even find a table where Dean can put his own chair at. Although he’d like to switch seats for a bit to relieve some of the aching pain in his back, he decides not to bother and focuses on the conversation instead.

Ellen especially seems taken with him and she sits next to him, trying to engage him in conversation. She’s a bit of a classic car enthusiast herself, and she loves Dean’s ‘67 Chevy Impala. He’s been rebuilding that car and sharing pictures of it on Twitter and Facebook. He likes sharing that much better than the pain he deals with everyday or that he’s probably going to need surgery on his spine again in the next year or so.

“We need to talk about Castiel,” Rhonda then says. “Someone posted a picture on Tumblr. Look.”

She holds up her phone and they all fall silent when they see a picture of Castiel’s beaten up face. His lip is split and his face is swollen. He has some bruising on his cheekbone, too.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

“You can say that again,” someone else says.

“I heard it was like three men that attacked him,” Ellen says. “It could have been so much worse.”

“I hope he’ll be okay,” Charlie says. “Poor guy.”

Under the table, her hand finds Dean’s thigh and squeezes it.

They chat the hours away at the diner. It really is as easy to talk with them in real life as it has been on Facebook. Dean finds himself bonding with Ellen and Jo easily. Rhonda gives him a weird vibe, and Garth is such a total nerd. Sammy would love him. Charlie gets her geek on with him quite quickly, too, and they're chatting animatedly as they go back to the hotel for the three o’clock panel.

At the hotel they find Crowley and Kevin, and Dean has to overcome his shyness once more. But especially Kevin is wicked smart and really nice, and he and Dean strike up a conversation easily. Dean wheels himself along everyone. He likes it when he can move himself around, gives him at least the feeling of control. Somewhat.

Everybody’s going to the three pm panel. They all stick together and Dean’s prepared to go sit alone at the accessible area, but Charlie leaves the group to sit with him. The panel is with a few other actors from the show. Dean likes them a lot, likes their sense of humor. They’re known to goof around on stage, and they’re genuinely nice to fans. Chuck Shurly, Balthazar Milton and Meg Masters are, apart from the two main characters, the backbone of the show.

Dean settles in his seat and lets it all wash over him. There are, of course, questions from the audience about Castiel’s well being.

“He annoyed me to tears just this morning,” Balthazar says cheerfully. “So I think he’s just fine.”

“And of course we hope that justice will be found,” Meg continues. “So if you know anything, please step forward.”

Dean presses his lips together. He bounces his leg a little to get rid of some nervous energy. Next to him, a girl looks at his moving leg, looks at his chair pointedly, and sends him a nasty look. He just cocks a brow at her, daring her to speak.

Charlie takes his hand and squeezes. It’s just one of the many things they’ve discussed over the time they’ve known each other. It’s amazing, and painful, just how badly Dean gets judged for being in a chair when people realize he’s not actually paralyzed. People just don’t realize most people in chairs can still walk to some extent.

The rest of the panel is wonderful though. They laugh a lot and the banter of the actors on the stage helps take his mind off both Castiel and his protesting body. By doing this panel he's missed his window to lie down though, as Castiel and Gilda’s panel will be after this one, and then it will be time for his photo op.

Dean has to use the restroom between the panels. He wishes he also had time to get a bottle of water or something, but the hall is crowded and he’s not sure he can navigate his chair through the thrum of people and get back in time. So he settles back in his place in the conference hall. His heart is hammering and there definitely are butterflies in his stomach. He has a stupid crush on Castiel, everybody knows that. He wants to see Castiel up close, see him answer people’s questions, see him smile.

But after what happened, he’s not sure what he’s hoping for. Maybe for Castiel’s gaze to roam the audience and for his eyes to find Dean. But everything happened so fast last night, he’s quite sure Castiel won’t recognize him at all.

Charlie finds him in the audience mere minutes before the panel is about to start. She hands him a bottle of water. When he thanks her, she grins. “Don’t mention it.”

He remembers she told him once about having an aunt who was wheelchair bound. Perhaps she has developed her radar because of that. The way she cares for him without taking care of him is astounding. When he gets home, he’ll have to figure out a way to thank her properly. He doesn’t have much money to spare, but he’s sure to find a way so he can let her know just how much she means to him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we wish you the warmest of welcomes to our third and final panel of the day with Coven’s main actors: Gilda Locasta and Castiel Novak,” the MC announces. He continues to explain the house rules, as is done with every panel. Dean finds himself leaning forward in his chair in anticipation. A ripple of excitement goes through the audience as the MC calls: “Here they are, the one and only Gilda and Castiel!”

The audience cheers, catcalls and whistles filling the room as well as applause. Dean can’t quite get himself to make any sort of noise, his eyes fixed on the actor as he walks up on the stage after Gilda. Charlie squeaks and squeezes his hand, but Dean can’t respond because he’s looking at Castiel. There’s a bounce in his step, which is definitely good, but he looks tired. Dean’s stomach clenches. He’s seen so many videos and analyzed so many pictures of the man he thinks he can tell just how exhausted Castiel must be right now.

He smiles crookedly, pointing apologetically at his face. His gaze roams over the audience and he walks over to the microphone while he lets the audience calm down. Some people are shouting very distinct questions: “Are you okay?” “Did you press charges?” “Were you robbed?”

Castiel smiles again and waits for a moment, until it gets quiet.

“You must have so many questions,” he says. His voice is crushed velvet, more gravelly than usual. He sits down on his bar stool, his posture relaxed. “I’ll try to answer them, and of course I will answer your questions about anything else than this temporary addition to my face.”

“What happened?” someone calls.

“Well, I went out to a bar last night, had a few drinks. On my way back I got pushed over by a few thugs who should’ve known better. I bet their mommas are real proud of them. As you can see, I fell on my face, and I got a few bruises I would’ve rather gained in the context of a bedroom, but I’ll be all right. I’ll also do my photo ops with you right after this panel, and autographs tomorrow as planned.”

“He looks so tired,” Dean whispers. ”Even his voice sounds flat.”

“I know,” Charlie replies just as quietly. “I feel so bad for him.”

Castiel answers some more questions, and keeps assuring everyone he's okay. Then his demeanor changes, and the audience goes quiet, as if sensing something important is coming.

“So, last night, there was a guy,” Castiel starts. Dean stops breathing. “He helped me. He chased those idiots away. But I didn’t get a chance to thank him, and I would love to. Is he in this room, by any chance?”

“Tell him,” Charlie demands into Dean’s ear, voice low. “Do it now.”

But Dean is frozen completely, just stunned by the fact that Castiel did notice him and does remember him now. And by the time he’s done processing that, he is too late. Someone else shouts: “it was me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> PS I'll update this daily so the final chapter will post April 1st. No joke :)


	3. Now. Brew shit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ready to go outshine Castiel with your pretty face, tiger?” Charlie asks to break the tension.
> 
> “Oh hush,” Dean grumbles. “As if he’d even notice me.”

Dean watches, stunned, as the audience erupts in cheers so loud it hurts his ears. He watches, mute, as Castiel invites this guy who was not there and who is not Dean on the stage and spends a good few minutes praising him and asking for another round of applause.

“What did you think when you saw me?” Castiel asks the guy, who is introduced as Zeke.

If Dean didn't know any better, he'd say the guy was preening at being the center of attention.

“I knew right away that I had to step in. I hate injustice,” Zeke says. 

God, even his voice sounds arrogant. 

“Anything in specific you remember about last night?” Castiel asks. 

“When I dropkicked that guy to pull him off you,” Zeke says. He's not meeting Castiel’s gaze when he speaks. “That felt good.”

“Well, thank you again,” Castiel says, and he asks for more applause. 

As the guy bumbles through Castiel’s questions Dean thinks, he’s lying, that’s not true, surely Castiel must know that’s not what happened? And is it just him or does Castiel look like he doesn't quite believe this guy, either? He is still smiling when Zeke leaves the stage, but to Dean it feels forced, not genuine. 

“You should say something,” Charlie urges. “You won't get another chance.”

But Dean knows he won't. He doesn't dare. 

Dean is cold, nauseous, and right now, he really just wants to leave this panel, no matter that it’s Castiel, no matter that he has saved up money for almost a year in order to see him up close. He looks at his hands in his lap and sighs, trying to hold it all together. 

The rest of the panel goes by in a haze. A girl gets her turn to ask a question but starts hyperventilating with nerves, so Castiel goes off the stage to hug her tight, and then he spends an extra minute answering her question. As the panel progresses, he finds his good humor back, and by the end, it seems as if the audience is running on a sugar high, feeding off Castiel's energy. And Gilda is putting on a stellar show as well, joking around with Castiel and answering questions. Everytime she speaks, Charlie stills, enthralled with the woman’s entire being. 

The first numbers for the solo photo ops with Castiel are announced at the end of the panel. Dean's numbers aren't there, but Charlie’s are. Dean decides to spend some time with Ellen and Jo while they wait for Charlie to come back. She has two photos with Castiel. Dean knows that one at least will be a hug. The second one, she's been keeping a secret. Dean can't wait to see it. It’ll likely refer to the funny fact that she's a lesbian and he's openly gay.

“Drink’s on me,” Ellen says when she puts a coke in front of him. They're at the hotel bar, the one Dean wanted to avoid.

“I'll pay you back,” he protests.

Ellen places a gentle hand on his arm. “You look like you've seen a ghost. The sugar will do you good. Castiel will be okay, you know?”

“I know,” Dean says. He hopes she won't ask anything more. He's not sure how well he'll be able to lie to her.

“Hey, I've been wondering,” she asks next. “You don't have to answer me if you don’t want to, of course, but why...” She hesitates.

“Why the chair?” Dean asks with a wan smile.

Ellen nods. “You're not paralyzed, right?”

Dean shakes his head. “I can walk a little still.”

“So what happened?” Jo asks.

Dean shrugs. “Fell down the stairs when I was thirteen. Didn't land so softly so broke my back, shattered my pelvis and a femur, tore up some ligaments. It never healed well.”

Ellen makes a sympathetic sound. Dean looks down at his coke bottle, fiddles with the label. He's not telling the complete version of the story. He doesn't like it, and he doesn't want the pity it always brings. So he never tells people that he didn't fall off the stairs, but that it was his father who pushed him. Because while Dean had been on the receiving end of the violence so far, suddenly John'd been going after Sammy, fists raised.

Dean wasn’t going to let that happen, so he’d jumped in between. John threw him away, catapulting him down the stairs. He remembers waking up in the hospital. He was there for three months. Three months he couldn't take care of Sammy. 

Thank fuck Bobby had stepped in. Thank fuck John went to jail.

He's out now, has been for a few years, but he's staying away from their lives. Mostly. 

Usually.

Well, sometimes, at least.

Dean frowns and pulls himself back to the present. 

“I'm so sorry,” Ellen says. “It must have been terrible.” 

It is, Dean wants to say. Instead, he smiles. “It is what it is. There are perks though. I get to skip lines a lot.”

“And you can still drive your Impala,” Jo chimes in. “I love that car.”

This makes Dean smile more genuinely. As secretive as he's been about his health on social media, his car has been his pride and joy for the last three years or so. He loves his baby and loves to show her off. 

“I think my number for the photos will be called soon,” Ellen says suddenly, sounding excited. “I should go freshen up so I look my best.”

Jo smiles encouragingly. Her op is tomorrow, Dean knows. 

“Do you have photo ops with Castiel? You did, right?” Ellen asks. 

Dean nods. “Just the one. But I'm in the assistance group so I'll be called last,” he says. He already feels kind of guilty and hopes Castiel won't be too tired by the time the day is done. There’s been a shitload of backlash towards the organization when they announced the adjusted schedule, putting the people with assistance last. Dean doesn’t like having to make a day this long, but he’s seen people around here who are struggling way worse than he is, and he feels sorry for them.

Ellen leaves them with a wave, leaving Dean and Jo alone. They chit chat for a while, getting to know each other. She really seems nice. 

His coke is nearly finished when Charlie comes bouncing back to them, a big grin on her face. “Oh my god he's so nice! We talked a little bit and we did the two photos,” she gushes. “I asked him how he was and he said he was fine. And I told him he didn't need to smile because that would hurt his face so he looked grumpy instead! It's going to be so funny. I hope I didn't derp too badly in my second op.”

“What was your second op?” Dean asks. 

“You'll see tomorrow,” she says, smiling like the cat that got the cream.

“Spoilsport,” Dean says, but there’s no real venom in his words. “I’m so glad he seemed all right though.”

“He was, although his face looks awful. From what I could see, he’s become quite creative at hiding his face in pictures. I can’t believe people are actually upset that he won’t look as nice in their op. I wanted to kick them,” Charlie fumes. “It’s not like he could help it.”

“He really couldn’t,” Dean says, feeling the same sense of injustice. “Those guys were so big, there was nothing he could’ve done.”

He realizes his mistake the moment the words have left his mouth. He glances at Jo, who looks at him with narrowed eyes. 

“I mean, they must’ve been pretty big, for them to be able to tackle Castiel like they did.” 

“Sure,” Jo says, but she keeps looking at him a moment too long.

“Hey, did you need to get anything from the hotel room for your photo?” Charlie asks, breaking the tension. 

“No, I’ve decided to change my op,” Dean lies smoothly. He doesn’t have his sticks anymore, so his op can’t go the way he wanted to anyway. He hasn’t been able to come up with something else yet. 

Just then, the numbers for the next batch of photo ops with Castiel are announced, and Ellen comes rushing back to their table. “Oh god, that’s me! Wish me luck!”

She’s done her hair and makeup and looks fantastic, even Dean can admit to that. Charlie beams at her. 

“Did you want to get another drink while we wait?” Jo asks after Ellen has all but skipped away. “I can go for something stronger than sparkling water, that’s for sure.”

Dean thinks at the few dollars in his wallet and at the bill of the crutches and the extra pain killers he’ll need that’s waiting for him when he gets home. He shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

Charlie frowns at him, hiding her face from Jo’s view. “What do you want? My treat.”

She knows about his financial struggles. Dean works hard - usually three times two hours a day with an hour of rest in between, six days a week in Bobby’s shop - but he’s still paying off his medical bills from his latest surgery and he’s helping Sam through law school. He honestly doesn’t have a dime to spare. 

“I am not a charity case,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Oh fuck off. You got me that board game that wasn’t sold in any store anymore, remember? Let me pay you back for that.”

Dean sighs, then lifts his hands in defeat. He’d spent a good few hours researching and making phone calls to stores all in the tri-state area to get ahold of that rare board game for Charlie’s birthday. Sam and Bobby both had chipped in paying for it. That’s how supportive they are of the friend they’ve never even met. 

“I’ll just have another coke,” he finally says. With the extra pain meds he took, there’s no way alcohol is a good idea. “I still need to drive,” he says by way of explanation to Jo, waving at his wheelchair. It makes her grin and he smiles back, hoping that her earlier suspicion is forgotten.

Besides, he reasons with himself, he can’t actually walk. So there’s no way people are going to actually believe him if he told them it was him that helped Castiel. And he hates attention, so.

It’s probably better he didn’t get the credit for it. Even if the asshole who took the spotlight is now famous in the fandom.

His mood must show on his face though, because Charlie scoots closer to rub his back before she walks over to the bar to get their drinks.

Jo, trying to break the awkward mood, starts talking about their common ground: the show. Dean is only half listening and sips the coke that Charlie puts in front of him. Charlie talks to Jo animatedly, so Dean hopes it’s less obvious he is not really participating in their conversation.

Dean’s reverie is broken by a voice calling out numbers. Nerves surge in his stomach when he realizes he’s up next for Castiel’s photo op.

“Oh god,” he breathes. His hands are suddenly clammy and he’s dizzy, too. Maybe he should’ve tried to eat a little more earlier, but it’s too late for that now. He looks at Charlie, alarmed.

“Ready to go outshine Castiel with your pretty face, tiger?” Charlie asks to break the tension. 

“Oh hush,” Dean grumbles. “As if he’d even notice me.”

“I’d say,” Charlie says as she releases the brakes on his chair and starts pulling him away from the table. Dean waves half-heartedly at Jo, who sends him an encouraging thumbs-up. 

“D’you think he’ll recognize you?” Charlie asks quietly when she helps him navigate the hotel hallways to the designated place to line up. There are chairs along the hallway so people can sit down. The people with assistance are a smaller group, so the line won’t be as long hopefully. There’s more people in chairs already, some with crutches, others are standing by themselves and are carrying less visible burdens. Everybody seems nervous and excited. Dean avoids as many eyes as he can as they settle in to wait. 

“I don’t think so,” Dean says, responding belatedly to Charlie’s question. “It all went pretty fast last night.”

Charlie nods, noticing his cue that he does not want to talk about it, and hums. “What will you do with your op?”

“Well, can’t do my old idea anymore, considering I don’t have my sticks,” Dean says. He’d wanted to try blocking Castiel’s path with his sticks, making it seem as if he was caging the man in. But now he’s stuck in his chair. “I can try standing up for the picture,” he muses. “Maybe I won’t even have to put the chair in the picture at all.”

He still hates that thing even if he’s grateful for the mobility it provides him. 

“Or,” Charlie says, “you could use it.” She leans in, a gleam in her eyes, and starts whispering her idea in Dean’s ear. Dean’s eyes grow wide as he listens, his mouth popping open in an ‘o’. 

“Do you think he would do that?”

“He might,” Charlie says. “He was very cooperative with me when I had my ops.”

Wow. Even if Dean is nervous to ask it, he has to admit that Charlie’s idea might be a nice one. Castiel, on the show, plays Emmanuel, an angel fallen from grace. He’s sent down to earth to prevent disasters from happening as his final chance to redeem himself. Emmanuel’s trademark line isn’t even said by the character, but by the higher power: “I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

Dean can see it. If he pushes up from his chair by placing his hands on the seat, and Castiel grips his shirt, they can make it seem like the man is actually lifting Dean out of his seat. It’ll hurt, a little, since Dean isn’t supposed to put weight on his back like that, but it’ll be worth it. 

“And then you ask him to put that line on your photo tomorrow when you get for your autograph.”

“You, my friend, are a blessing,” Dean says. He’s smiling now, happy to have something to ask Castiel, even if he’s nervous as fuck about meeting the guy.

The line moves slowly but surely, and when there’s only three people before them left, Charlie kneels down next to him so her mouth is close to his ear. 

“You gonna tell him?”

Dean pulls back so he can look at her. “Should I?”

She swats his arm. “Yes, you should. Holy shit, Dean, it’s a big thing that happened. He should know.”

“But he already thinks this other guy helped him,” Dean says, frowning. “He wouldn’t believe me. And then if he did, knowing him he’d feel obliged to fix that. Which makes him look like an idiot in front of everyone.”

Charlie shakes her head with sad eyes. “You’re looking at it from everyone’s perspective but yours,” she says quietly. “Again.”

Dean looks down at his hands in his lap. He’s taken off the leather, fingerless gloves he uses for more grip on the push rim, and now he’s fidgeting. Like many other things, this is a discussion they’ve had before. Dean doesn’t like the spotlight. Dean doesn’t want attention. Dean just wants to make sure everyone around him is happy and content. He’ll worry about the rest, especially if that means others don’t have to worry about him. 

One more to go and then it’s his turn. Dean’s heart is hammering in his throat. He can see Castiel interact with the girl in front of him, his easy smile disarming and taking away some of her anxiety. The girl wants a simple hug and Castiel obliges, his big body dwarfing hers as he wraps her up in his arms. 

“Maybe I should do just that,” Dean murmurs. But that means standing up and maybe that’s not the best possible option right now. 

His time to worry about the right way to fill his one precious photo with Castiel ends as the volunteers usher the girl, now with happy tears in her eyes, away and beckons Dean to come forward. He hands them his slip, swallows through a dry throat, and looks at Castiel. 

The man is beaming at him, the easy smile he always seems to wear, and he’s relaxed. A make-up artist has done a stellar job trying to hide away most of the bruises Dean knows are hiding underneath. But his lip is still swollen and his eyes look small with exhaustion. 

Dean wants to slam his brakes down when Charlie wheels him up to Castiel unapologetically. He leans back in his chair. He’s not ready for this. He’s not. And Castiel is so tall from where he is sitting right now, it’s not fair. 

But then Castiel says “Hi!” and he squats in front of Dean so that they’re on a more even keel. He holds out his hand, and Dean shakes it. A firm grip of calloused skin against calloused skin, and maybe Dean is imagining things, but it feels like Castiel is holding his hand a moment longer than strictly necessary. 

“Hi,” Dean replies, stunned. It’s weird to be so close to Castiel again, especially since he’s quite sure the other man doesn’t remember a single thing from the previous night. 

“What's your name?”

“Dean,” Dean stammers. “Winchester.”

“Well, Dean Winchester, what would you like to do?” Castiel asks. His voice is so nice, it’s like a caress down Dean’s nape. For a moment he wonders what that would be like, to have Castiel whisper words against the nape of Dean’s neck, which is a ridiculously sensitive part on his body, but he shakes the thought away. 

“Tell him,” Charlie encourages. But Dean is lost. He’s not even sure if Charlie wants Dean to tell Castiel about the picture or about the previous night. And he can’t decide right now which one, and he’s lost in the unearthly blue of Castiel’s gaze. 

“You’re okay,” Castiel says reassuringly. He must think Dean is having some kind of panic attack, and he isn’t, and it’s stupid that he can’t even say that much right now. “Can you tell me what you want for your photo? You have one photo with me, right?”

Dean nods, unable to speak. He wants Castiel to know, suddenly, with all his heart, that Dean was the one who helped chase his attackers away. But the words are stuck in his throat and nothing comes out. Charlie starts trying to explain to Castiel what Dean would like for his photo (not saying anything about last night, thank god), but Castiel simply looks at Dean.

“How ‘bout we just do one with my arm around your shoulder, yeah?” Castiel asks, voice calm and soothing. “That’ll be nice enough no matter what.”

Dean nods, still speechless. He’s behaving like a goddamned idjit, as Bobby would say. If he were to tell Castiel about last night now, the man would really not believe him. He must be thinking Dean’s mentally challenged, as well. 

Castiel simply moves so that he’s on his raised knees and wraps a snug arm around Dean’s shoulders. Dean leans in, and he has no idea how this is possible but he feels at ease in Castiel’s embrace, like he’s done it before. It’s familiar somehow. Dean wonders if everybody feels like that with him, or if it’s just him, or if it’s this stupid crush he’s had on the man for ages. 

It must show, too, Dean thinks. But then again, how many guys are here with the same crush, maybe even the same hopes? Castiel is a single man after all, and he’s said in interviews before that he’s looking to settle down. 

They settle in for the picture. 

“I feel like I know you somehow,” Castiel says suddenly, his smile not wavering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear from you!


	4. Now. Boil shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dad came by the shop,” Sam mutters after a long silence. “Asked for you.”
> 
> “Crap,” Dean curses. “What did he say?”

Dean looks at him in surprise, and of course that is the exact moment the picture is taken. Castiel moves so he can give Dean a half-hug - as far as possible with his chair in the way. When he pulls back, he’s still smiling. But it seems different now, more genuine. 

“Did you do your act of kindness today?” he asks. 

Dean narrows his eyes, wondering if there’s a double meaning to Castiel’s question. Then he nods. “I did,” he says. He thinks quickly. “I stopped injustice from happening.” He’s being cryptic, he knows, but it’s the closest he can make himself come to admitting that he was the one who helped Castiel out. 

Castiel beams at him and takes Dean’s hand in both of his. “Thank you,” he says, and Dean must be imagining things but it’s like Castiel is thanking him for more than just Dean’s vague description. Whichever way it was intended, Dean takes it to heart and smiles back, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

Their moment is broken when the usher starts guiding them out. Charlie pushes him away from the room and waits sensibly until they’ve reached a quieter part in some hallway before she walks around his chair and squeals in a way that might make dogs come running. 

Dean fights the urge to cover his ears. His hands are shaking, his heart is still hammering, and there’s a fine sheen of sweat making his shirt stick to his back. 

“What the fuck just happened?” Charlie says, voice softer now, but no less excited. “What! He totally knew you, Dean. He totally knew it was you!”

Dean, for one moment, allows himself to hope. “Do you think so?”

“I know so,” Charlie insists. “He held your hand longer than necessary and I could just tell he looked at you differently. Why didn’t you tell him?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but he’s just as tongue tied as he was next to Castiel just now. 

“You’ll have to tell him tomorrow,” Charlie says. “You have to. You won’t get any other opportunity and even if you don’t want anything to happen because of it, you should give him the chance to thank the right person for helping him out.”

It’s a low blow, and Charlie knows it. Dean’s a hair trigger when it comes to injustice and even if he doesn’t care if he gets any credit for what he did, he feels strongly about Castiel getting the chance to thank the right person at least. 

Dean blows out a breath through puffed cheeks. The anxiety, that had been calmed somewhat after the picture was taken, has come back full force. He knows he probably won’t be getting any sleep tonight, either. 

His back aches in anticipatory complaint. 

They have drinks at a bar close to the hotel. It’s cheaper than the hotel bar at least, and Dean insists on paying for two of Charlie’s drinks to pay off his guilt. He stays away from alcohol himself. It would help relax his muscles but alcohol and his extra strong painkillers don’t play nice together, and he doesn't want to risk getting sick and spending most of the night upending his insides above the toilet bowl.

He bows out early. His back hurts, the bruise on his hip is throbbing, and he just needs to lie flat for a good few hours so he can face the following day. Charlie, bless her, goes into Dean's hotel room with him and helps him unassumingly with a few small things - untying his boots and taking them off, pulling back the sheets of the bed, and filling a glass of water to put on the nightstand. Dean knows he should shower, but he just hopes he will have the energy for that tomorrow morning. Right now, he needs to relieve the pressure on his back like yesterday. 

Charlie leaves with a quiet goodbye. Dean wrestles himself out of his clothes and pulls himself into the bed. His muscles cramp up at the changed position and he grits his teeth, curling onto his side and breathing slowly as he waits for his protesting body to settle. When the pain fades, Dean picks up his phone to call Sam. 

“Hey!” his younger brother says excitedly when he answers the phone. “How's the convention? Did you see Castiel Novak?”

Dean grins. “I did. Took my picture with him.”

“I saw he was beaten last night,” Sam says carefully. “Like mugged?”

“He was,” Dean says. “But he's okay. He was very nice.”

“I bet he was,” Sam says. “He seems that way in the interviews you've shown me.”

“I hope my picture turned out okay. How's things at home?”

“Good,” Sam says, but his voice changes and Dean knows immediately that something is wrong. 

“Sammy,” Dean replies. “What's up? Something at school?”

“No, school’s fine. No news since you left,” Sam says with a humorless chuckle.

“Then what is it?”

“Dad came by the shop,” Sam mutters after a long silence. “Asked for you.”

“Crap,” Dean curses. “What did he say?”

“Nothing much. I think he was drunk.”

Of course he was. “He didn't try anything, right?”

“He just wanted to know when you'd be back. Bobby called me to tell me about it, and he warned me not to tell you. We didn't tell dad when you'd be back, but you should prepare for that, I guess.”

Dean rubs his face with his free hand. Sammy was nine when shit went down the drain and he never realized the full extent of everything that had been going on. Dean made sure of that. 

“I wish we had a reason to get that restraining order renewed,” Dean mutters, voice low. “I bet he needs money or something. And I don't have a dime to spare.”

Sammy makes a sound that Dean can read like a book.

“He said something about that, didn't he. About me being away for a few days and the money I must be spending?”

“I have enough, Dean,” Sam says quickly. “My scholarship covers most of my expenses and what you're able to send me is enough. I don't need more.”

Dean swallows away a sudden lump in his throat. Of course John had to poke at that. Dean felt so guilty already for taking a few days to himself, never mind that it took him the better part of a year to save up scraps of money to make this happen. Never mind that he has 25 bucks left for Sunday and Monday at the airport. Never mind that this is the first money he's spent on himself in over three years, medical bills not included. Guilt washes over him, making his gut twist. 

“Okay. You just let me know if you ever need more, okay?” Dean says. His voice sounds fucked. “I can make it work somehow. Your education is important.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, voice softer now. “Hey, have you spoken to Bobby yet? I'm sure he wants to hear all about your time there. Did you meet people from the Facebook group? Oh! Did you meet Charlie?”

Dean chuckles, grateful for the subject change even if it's done with the grace of a puppy climbing the stairs for the first time. “I met her. She picked me up at the airport, silly wench. She's as awesome as she’s always been on the phone.”

“I bet. Maybe she can come visit someday. I'd love to meet her.”

Dean finds himself smiling. They'd hit it off right away, Dean is sure. “Haven't talked to Bobby yet. It's late, I'll call him tomorrow after the autographs.”

“So you'll get Castiel to sign your photo, right?” Sam asks. “You get to meet him again?”

“If he recognizes me,” Dean says. Castiel's comment that he felt like he knew Dean still lingers in his memory. Was that a joke? A line he used with every fan? Or had Castiel really remembered him?

“Sure he will. Your ugly mug stands out in any crowd.” 

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam chuckles at the other end of the line. “You okay though? Must be long days for you. Is the hotel wheelchair friendly?”

“Yes, and the staff have been nice. I miss my bed though,” Dean says. He grimaces as he shifts to find a better position. At home, he has a memory foam mattress. Here, not so much. 

“Just one more day and then you're back Monday. Bobby told me to tell you he won't stand for it if you try to clock in for the afternoon.”

It startles a laugh out of Dean, because he totally had been considering doing a half day at work after he flies in Monday morning. Apparently, people feel like they should be looking out for him. 

“Okay,” he says, caught. “I won't. How's Jess?”

“Jess is fine!” A woman calls from the background. Sam chuckles. 

“Sorry. You were not on speakerphone but her hearing is supernatural, I swear.”

There is some shuffling at the other end of the line, and then a female voice greets him happily. “You doing okay there, hot wheels? Haven't made anyone stumble with your sticks?”

“I wouldn't dare,” Dean lies smoothly. “You been taking care of Sammy there? Making sure he eats proper food from time to time?”

“We had burgers yesterday,” Jess confirms. “And tacos tonight. I'll make a man out of him.”

Sammy protests in the background, but it's good natured. Dean chuckles and bids them both a good night before he hangs up the phone. It's not too late to call Bobby, but he won't. Sam didn't pick up on it, but Bobby will be able to hear in his voice just in how much pain he really is, and Dean doesn't want his surrogate dad to worry. He'll just try to sleep and hope tomorrow is a better day.

Though the pain wakes him several times that night, he sleeps surprisingly well. By the time his alarm wakes him, he feels good enough to take a shower and then go to the breakfast floor. Charlie is already there, tapping away on her phone. 

“So, turns out Castiel's savior got outed,” she says casually as she pours Dean his first cup of coffee. Dean nearly chokes on his sandwich. 

“What?”

“People are showing pictures that have this guy at a bar at the other end of the neighborhood at the time the mugging took place. Idiot,” she murmurs, still scrolling. “He's deleted his Facebook account and other social media. Castiel has posted on his Facebook he's really disappointed but that he hopes fans will not take any action on this guy.”

Dean is stunned, his breakfast forgotten. If Castiel knows that guy wasn't the one who saved him, does that mean Castiel will still be looking for the person who did? Would that mean that Dean could still tell him?

But no. There's probably going to be fifty people telling him how they saved him that night, he thinks. Best leave it alone. If he can get himself one more of those smiles he'd gotten the day before at the photo op, he'll be grand, he's sure. 

Charlie looks at him over her phone. “Still think you should tell him.”

Dean shakes his head and avoids her gaze. 

Charlie lets the subject rest, thankfully, and they start talking about other things. They’ll probably be able to get their autos together, after they've picked up their pictures. Dean happily lets Charlie navigate the crowd to collect their prints while he waits in a corner, bouncing his foot with nervous energy. 

“If it ain’t the famed Dean Winchester,” he suddenly hears a familiar voice behind him. 

Dean twists in his seat to look over his shoulder and his face lights up with a smile. “Benny! I thought you said you weren't going to make it!”

He's beaming. Benny is a guy who just might be as great a friend as Charlie is. He's from the Facebook group, too. They have actually met in the past when Benny was in the neighborhood for his job.

Benny grins and walks around to face Dean properly. He wraps his arms under Dean's and simply lifts Dean up and out of the chair for a proper hug. Dean hugs him right back. They've done this before. Benny is bisexual, and while they've never shared more than warm affection for each other, they've never been shy about hugging. Or fucking, when the situation allowed it. Just casual intimacy, no strings attached. Dean won't admit out loud how much those encounters have kept him from crawling out of his own skin.

Plus, it's awesome that Benny is strong enough to lift Dean up bodily. Dean loves that a little. 

Okay a lot. 

Benny makes sure Dean is steady on his feet when he lets him go, holding him at arm’s length so he can look him up and down. He whistles lowly. “That latest spine correction did you good,” he says appreciatively. “You're even taller now.”

Dean grins bashfully. “More happy with the pain relief it brought,” he says.

“Course,” Benny admits. “No sticks though? I know you usually like to walk around.”

“I kinda lost them,” Dean says, hoping Benny won't catch the lie. “Stupid, I know.”

“Sucks,” Benny agrees. “Hey, we should totally catch up later today. I'll text you. I just have to go inside if I want decent seating at the panel. I didn't get free priority like you,” he says, punching Dean’s arm playfully.

Dean swats him back. “I'll trade places any time, dude. Any time.”

Benny laughs and walks away, leaving Dean the dignity to lower himself back into his chair at his own pace. Catching up with Benny later might mean the promise of some skin on skin contact. Might be nice, Dean thinks. Maybe.

Best not worry about that yet.

Charlie is taking her sweet time finding those pictures, he thinks instead, and he gets out his phone to see if she's sent him a message.

People whispering catch his attention and he looks at them from the corner of his eye. They are obviously looking at him, pointing subtly in his direction. Dean chooses to ignore them, eyes instead moving into the direction he expects Charlie to come back from any moment now. The panel starts in fifteen minutes, and after that they'll get to line up for Castiel’s autograph. 

He's excited to see how Charlie’s pictures turned out. His own, not so much. He's sure he looks awful but worst case he can ask Castiel to sign the right side of the photo and just cut himself out of the image.

He realizes too late someone from the small group that's been whispering has walked up to him. He looks up at the woman he doesn't know. For a fleeting second he tries to match her face to a picture in the Facebook group, but comes up empty. 

“You shouldn't cheat, you know,” she says. At Dean's confused look, she points at his bouncing knee. “Some people are really disabled. They deserve the special access. People like you should be banned from visiting any event like this ever again.”

Wow, okay. What?

“Sorry?” Dean says, but he knows what's happening. It's happened before and it will happen again. Some people still think that you can only be in a wheelchair when you're paralyzed. Some people feel the need to point out their righteousness in such a case. 

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” the woman says. “I'm going to report you to the staff, to make sure you can't abuse special treatment again.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Dean says, bristling. “You don't get to judge just because you think you know what's happening.”

“I think I can see perfectly well what’s happening,” she snips, looking down at him. 

“So you’re blind as well as prejudiced,” Dean mutters. He’s seething, anger rapidly washing over him and making his aching muscles tense. He’s tempted to just pull up his henley and show this woman his scars, but he won’t let himself be forced to prove that he’s disabled. He’s struggling every day enough as it is - justifying the fact that he actually cannot walk is not a battle he wants to face, too. He looks up at her, hates that she’s above him. “Listen, I’m not gonna justify my chair. Some people have less visible disabilities after all. Like your stupidity. Hard to tell from the outside.”

The woman gasps, outraged, and just as one of her friends starts walking up to them, Charlie reappears with the photos, fucking finally.

“Dean, I got the- what’s going on here?” she asks, glancing at Dean and then looking at the women.

“You shouldn’t be helping along abuse of special arrangements,” the woman says. “Your friend here does not need his chair - I saw him standing up just now, and he’s rude to boot. You shouldn’t be helping him just so you can skip the line.”

Charlie goes from sparkling to deadly in about 0.2 seconds. Her eyes go hard and her jaw tenses, even as she pulls her shoulders back. “You know when he was in front of the line?” she asks, her voice deadly quiet.

“Charlie,” Dean says softly. “Don’t.”

“When his drunk dad threw him off the stairs and he broke just about every bone below his belly button. I’m sure he wishes he could’ve been in the back then.”

The woman gapes. She’s starting to look unsure. Dean just wants to leave. He hates it when other people know what happened. He releases the brakes on his chair, ready to go and leave this fucking shitshow behind. 

“He’s lucky he can still walk a few steps. That he can work and take care of himself so he’s not depending on government money to get by. But you’re so quick to judge you can’t even see what’s happening right in front of you. I should report you for spreading slander. Bitch.”

Charlie raises her brow at the woman and then promptly turns to Dean, ignoring her completely. 

“I’m sorry,” the woman whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Still ignoring her, Charlie takes Dean’s hand. “You okay? Ready to go?”

Dean nods, still upset from the encounter. 

“C’mon, soldier,” Charlie says, walking around him so she can push him towards the conference room. She drops the photos in Dean’s lap. “What happened?”

“Benny is here,” Dean says. “He lifted me up for a hug like he always does. This woman saw me standing up and thought she knew better.”

“Benny’s here? Oh that’s awesome! Sorry about that cunt though, some people,” she adds in a harsher voice. “We should meet Benny.”

“He’s texting us after the panel to see if we can arrange something. He wasn’t supposed to make it, so I never expected him here.”

“Nice surprise,” Charlie hums. “Hopefully we get to meet him later. Oh, look at those pictures. You’re going to scream.”

While Charlie navigates him to the big room, the woman left behind, he looks at the pictures. Charlie’s are on top - one with the big bear hug she said she was going to get. Castiel looks so annoyed, grumpy as Charlie said, it's funny. The second one makes Dean laugh out loud. It’s a traditional dancing pose, only it’s Charlie holding Castiel like he’s the lady, leaning back and lifting his leg in a classic Hollywood dip. 

“He held himself up,” Charlie explains. “I’d never have been able to keep him poised like that but he barely put any weight on me.”

“It’s awesome,” Dean says. “And he was obviously enjoying himself. God, look at that smile,” he adds in a softer voice, his fingertip stroking the picture as if he could actually feel Castiel’s face. 

“Now look at yours,” Charlie encourages. 

Dean waits until they’re seated in the conference room before he lifts Charlie’s picture to reveal his own. He’s sure it’s going to be awful, after all, he must’ve looked like a total idiot right after Castiel mentioned that he thought he knew Dean. 

“C’mon, you’re going to love it,” Charlie says when Dean still hesitates. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean lifts the picture and looks.

He’s not looking surprised. Like, at all.

He looks in love.

Holy fucking shit.

He covers the image back up with Charlie’s and swallows, focusing his gaze on the stage. 

“Those are some heart eyes, right there,” Charlie says. “It’s a wonderful picture.”

“I look like a mooning school girl,” Dean laments. He sneaks a look at the picture again. Although it’s wildly uncomfortable to know he is looking like that at a celebrity who will never even remember his name, there’s something else in that picture that catches on to Dean’s brain, determined to take hold and stay. 

It’s the way his face his soft, soft crinkles at his eyes betraying his smile, but void of all of those little lines that speak of his pain and exhaustion and stress. He looks relaxed, at ease. 

“Holy fucking shit.”

“That’s what I thought,” Charlie says. “Whatever you do, don’t ever cut yourself out of that picture. At least not before I’ve managed to get a copy for myself. I’ve never seen you like that in all the time we’ve known each other.”

A weird flutter of nerves courses through Dean’s belly as he places the pictures carefully in his lap. The MC has gone on stage to announce the guests for the panel, but Dean is distracted. He knew Castiel made him happy, but he never thought that it made him look like that. Even if nothing else happens at this conference, this will be a gift he will carry with him for a very long time.

By the end of the panel, Charlie navigates them through the crowd to the hall where the autographs will take place. Dean can get an auto with all the main cast as it’s included in his ticket, even if he just has the cheapest one. A quick glance shows him that Castiel is all the way at the end of the line. The cast is chatting animatedly, goofing off and taking pictures of the crowd. Dean finds himself smiling, his nerves sending a wave of adrenaline through his system.

Thanks to Charlie’s expert navigation, Dean ends up about halfway in the long line of all the people with special access. He gets to watch all the people before him interact with the cast, and more than once, one of them will get up to hug one of the con guests. Castiel gets up nearly every single time.

“He gives the best hugs,” Charlie says approvingly. “We should try and arrange that for you, too.”

“Unless he’s like Benny and able to pull me up out of my chair, not gonna happen,” Dean says. “I’m not going to embarrass myself like that.”

“Okay, okay,” Charlie says soothingly. Dean wonders if she knows how stressed he is when they arrive at the desks where the cast is at. Dean has his memory journal with him and simply offers a new page to every cast member, happy to let them sign in whatever way they want. Charlie gets her pictures signed, too. Her picture with Gilda is later that day, and after that she’ll brave the queue again to get that one signed as well. Dean doesn’t ask for any hugs from the cast, and they don’t offer.

He would die if Castiel hugged him, but he can’t get out without some awkward maneuvering without his sticks and there’s a gazillion eyes on them already. He’s not going to do that, even if he totally would like to. 

The cast chat with him, ask his name and how he’s liking the con. Dean clutches his journal to his chest, his picture with Castiel on his lap when they arrive at his table.

Castiel is still talking with the guy before him, so he waits, biting his lip. He shouldn’t be so nervous, dammit. He just wants to be able to enjoy this and not forget everything that’s happening because he’s too stressed to register anything. 

Dean’s mind shorts out when Castiel shifts his gaze and those blue eyes meet his. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says, and Dean shivers, goosebumps flying over his skin.

Yeah, okay, so much for a smooth meeting. 

“Hi,” Dean says. His voice is so rough he wonders if Castiel even understood him. “How are you?” Yes, that’s great, he asked a coherent question. 

“I am doing great, thank you,” Castiel says happily. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Dean says, suddenly shy. He’s not going to be like some of those con goers who pour out their hearts over the cast. They’re not therapists, they shouldn’t be bothered with all that crap. But Dean’s in pain and suddenly it’s all he wants to tell this man. So he grits his teeth and forces a smile. 

“Did you have a picture for me to sign? Or should I sign something else?” Castiel asks kindly. 

“You go first,” Dean tells Charlie. He needs a moment to collect himself.

Charlie steps up with her pictures. “Could you write, ‘for Charlie?’ You're a great dancer, by the way,” she adds with a grin. Dean is not jealous of the way she can talk to him, he's not. 

Their encounter is over all too soon and then Charlie pushes him forward unapologetically, so that he's right in front of Castiel. 

“Hi again,” Castiel says. “What can I sign for you?”

“The picture,” Dean stammers. He hands it to Castiel, and goddamn but their fingers brush when the actor takes it from him.

“Oh, that turned out really nice!” Castiel says, and Dean wants to believe he means it. “What shall I put on it?”

“Eh…” Since his op didn’t go the way he wanted to, it’s going to be hard to ask for what he’d originally planned. 

“I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” Charlie says decisively. Dean’s head whips around to her, and then back to Castiel just in time to see the man smile approvingly and take his sharpy to the photo. 

He writes quickly, and Dean is lost in time and space, simply looking at Castiel as he signs the picture. 

“You look great in this,” Castiel says when he’s signed with a flourish. “You like it?”

The smile Castiel sends him is so easy and genuine that something finally unfreezes in Dean, and he’s able to send the man a real smile back. “I really do like it,” he says. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Castiel says. He looks at Dean, a second too long Dean thinks, but before he knows what’s going on or can guess at what’s happening, Castiel has leaned forward over the table, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Dean,” he says, “I still have your handkerchief.”

Time stops.

The buzz in the room no longer registers in Dean’s ears. All he can hear is his stammering heartbeat, and all he can see is the blue of Castiel’s eyes. 

“Uh,” Dean says intelligently. “I said you could keep it.”

Castiel laughs loudly at that, his head thrown back and his Adam’s apple showing. It shouldn’t be so attractive, but it is. 

Then Castiel proceeds to surprise the shit out of Dean by walking around the table and kneeling in front of him. He takes both of Dean’s hands in his. “Thank you,” he says, and Dean knows he means it. “Really, thank you. For helping me. For being brave. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Dean tilts his head, indicating his chair. “I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me,” he says helplessly. “And then this other guy stood up, and-”

“And you thought you didn’t stand a chance,” Castiel says. “God, Dean. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been there. What happened to your crutches?”

Behind Dean, the people in the line are starting to murmur, wondering what’s taking so long. From the corner of his eye Dean can see a volunteer shuffling closer, ready to break them up to keep everything going. But Dean hardly notices any of that, because Castiel is basically telling him he remembers every detail of that night effortlessly.

“My sticks broke on those guys’ backs,” he says. “I’ll buy new ones when I get home.”

“Let me reimburse you,” Castiel says seriously. “It’s the least I can do. You took a blow or two, too, if I remember correctly. Did you see a doctor for that?”

Dean shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. He can’t afford unexpected bills and while the bruise on his leg is nearly black from the impact of that asshole’s boot, at least nothing’s broken. 

Castiel’s face crumples as if he’s heartbroken, but then he rearranges it in a more friendly expression. He looks over his shoulder and beckons someone closer. It’s one of Castiel’s own staff, Dean knows. 

“This is Jake,” Castiel says, gesturing at the man. “Jake, this is Dean. Dean is the real guy who saved me from my attackers the day before yesterday. He’d like to keep that quiet, if I understand correctly.” Castiel looks at Dean to make sure he’s right. Dean nods. 

“What’s going on over there? People are waiting!” someone calls at the back of the line. Dean feels sorry and he’s about to apologize for keeping Castiel’s time, but then Castiel speaks again. 

“Make sure you get all Dean’s information so we can pay any bills he’s racking up for his good deed. And please reimburse him for his expenses at this conference. No,” he says when Dean opens his mouth to protest. “It’s the least I can do. If you hadn’t been there, who knows what would have happened.”

Dean looks at Charlie, who seems to be just as speechless as he is for once. 

“Now, feel free to tell me to butt off, but I’d really like to give you a hug,” Castiel says next. “Please?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, still dazed. “Please.”

He doesn’t have to get up. Castiel simply leans in close and wraps both arms around Dean’s shoulders, pressing their torsos together as well as they can with Dean sitting down. Dean brings his arms up as well, feels the strong muscles in Castiel’s back.

“Thank you,” Castiel whispers in Dean’s ear. “Please give your information. I’d like to stay in touch somehow, talk to you some more.” He pulls back so he can look Dean in the eye. “Please. I won’t put you in the spotlight for this, but please give me that chance.”

Dean is simply stunned but he manages a nod. And then things just move really fast as people are starting to become impatient and a volunteer ushers them away from the line so people can get moving again.

“You really should try to demand less time with the cast,” the volunteer says. Her voice is kind, but firm. “They see many people and they’re not trained to deal with all your stories, heartfelt as they may be.”

“Which is why Castiel was the one doing all the talking,” Charlie snaps back, but not quite loud enough to be heard over the buzz of people talking. 

Dean spares a grin at her venom, but his heart is still hammering. 

The volunteer stops them at a place near the exit of the big room. “Wait here for Jake. He’ll be here any moment.” She walks off briskly after that.

Dean looks up at Charlie. “He said he wants to keep in touch. D’you think he meant that?”

“He did? Oh my god! I should hope so,” Charlie says, beaming. “He’s not one to make empty promises. When did he say so?”

“When he hugged me,” Dean says. He shivers, but in a good way. “It was awesome.”

“I’ll bet,” Charlie says dreamily. “Oh, man. Are you happy? He totally recognized you.”

“He did,” Dean says quietly. Of all the scenarios in his head, he’d never dreamed that this was the way it would go. “I am happy.”

He’s not sure if he can accept Castiel paying for new sticks or if Castiel even will do so, but the sentiment is nice, anyway. He sits up straighter in his seat when Jake comes walking over to them, a notepad and pen in his hand. 

Dean looks over his shoulder to the far end of the room, where Castiel is still signing. As if called, his head snaps up and he looks straight at Dean, his eyes crinkling in the corners when he smiles. 

Dean smiles back shyly, and when Castiel turns back to the person he’s signing for, he focuses on Jake, who has simply gotten a chair from god knows where and sits next to Dean. 

“All right, just give any information you’re comfortable with. We’ll handle it confidentially, of course. Cas is a really nice guy and you can be sure he will keep his promise.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Dean says, but he accepts the paper and pen all the same. “I was just glad I could help.”

“Would you have said anything at all if he hadn’t recognized you?” Jake asks. 

Dean shrugs. “Probably not. It’s not important, you know?”

Jake looks incredulous. “I think it is. But if you don’t want people to know, that’s okay. Hey, why don’t you include your twitter handle though? Cas is great with social media.”

After some consideration, Dean adds his twitter, facebook and instagram names to his address and bank account number. 

“What do these crutches cost?” Jake asks next. “Like a hundred bucks? A hundred and fifty?”

“Maybe fifty,” Dean says. He doesn’t want to ask for anything at all, let alone medical crap. If he gets fifty, he can add a little money of himself to get those ergonomic grip things, which will be easier on his hands. 

“I call bullshit,” Jake says. He pulls out his phone and taps it for a few moments, then shows Dean a picture of some high tech crutches with goddamned shock absorption. Then he pulls out his wallet and takes out bills. “I’d have someone buy them for you, but you’ll know what you need best yourself. Go and do it now, and you can be back in time for the last panels.”

Dean looks at the money, stunned, then back at Jake. Charlie is quiet too, just as flabbergasted. 

“Take it,” Jake insists. “Cas will pay me back. It’ll make everything easier for you, right? Even navigating the hotel room?”

“Yes,” Dean stammers. There’s only one question in his brain - how does this guy know?

“I have a son with cerebral palsy,” Jake says, probably understanding the question in Dean’s eyes. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I know that if my kid was stuck in his wheelchair, there’d be a tantrum to end all tantrums.” Jake opens his wallet again and pulls out more paper. “Know what, go take a cab to the closest Walgreens and buy these things. Let it be my random act of kindness today.”

“You sure?” Dean asks, stunned.

“I’m sure. What you did was awesome. You saved Cas from much worse. This is the least we can do.”

Jake’s phone rings after that, and he answers it with an apologizing smile at Charlie and Dean. He waves at them before he hurries off, and Dean looks at the money that’s now in his fist.

“Eh,” he says. “What?”

“Right,” Charlie says. “Holy shit. So, wanna go shopping?”

“You have photo ops,” Dean argues. “You can’t miss them. You paid for them.”

Charlie huffs. “You’re more important than some actor of a show.”

Dean gives her an unimpressed glance. “Sure. You’ve waited all damn year to meet Gilda. Go forth and have fun. I’ll deal. I’ve always dealt. But I’ll call Benny if that soothes you.”

“It soothes me,” Charlie says, appeased. 

They hug before Charlie bounces off to her photo ops, and Dean sits still for a moment, wondering what the fuck just happened. The money burns in his pocket, and he seriously considers for a minute if he can do without crutches and shove the money towards Sammy’s schooling. Or give it to Bobby as a thank you for taking care of him. Pay off some bills. 

He can buy simple sticks and use the rest of the money for better things. It’s a good idea, except that if Jake sees him with the new crutches, he’ll wonder what Dean did with the money, and he can’t have that.

But holy shit, did he just have an actual conversation with Castiel Novak? Did the guy just actually remember his name, did he say he wanted to keep in touch? What if he does? Dean looks back into the room where the autographs are held, but he can’t see Castiel anymore. 

Well, even if Castiel forgets all about him and nothing else happens anymore, he will always have this.

So, he takes out his phone and texts Benny, who, surprisingly, has no photo ops either and is willing to go with Dean. 

“Hey, handsome,” Benny says when he finds Dean not ten minutes later. “Ready to get some support?”

Dean smiles, nods. It’ll be good to spend a little time with Benny. With Benny’s job, it’s been difficult to find some time to catch up. And Dean really needs to distract himself before his thoughts go into overdrive. 

They take a cab to the nearest Walgreen’s and chat on their way, about the con and about their lives. Benny easily helps him into the chair when the cab arrives at their destination, his strong arms a solid support. He lets Dean wheel himself, but inside the mall, where it’s a little more crowded, Benny takes over and navigates the isles. 

The crutches are found easily, and Dean is even more grateful that Benny is with him, as the sales lady is awkward and unhelpful. Benny simply lifts Dean to his feet and holds him steady while Dean installs the crutches. Benny is behind him, arms steadily around his waist, and he’s so close that Dean can feel his body heat. 

When they have selected the right for the sticks, Dean’s pretty damned happy he got the chance to buy these. They’re comfortable, and he opts to walk out of the store after he’s paid for them, grateful to be able to move around some. Benny keeps his pace, patient as always, pushing the empty chair, and they wander off to a coffee corner to get some drinks with the leftover money.

“You look happy,” Benny says. His own smile is warm, and soft around the edges. 

“Well, I was on the receiving end of a random act of kindness today,” Dean says. “So yeah, that kinda made my day.”

Benny raises a brow. “Are you really not gonna tell me about how Castiel Novak was all over you during autos? Do you not know you’re all over twitter and facebook with that?”

Dean flushes a deep crimson. “What?”

“Something happened, but people don’t know what. Only that you held up the line and Castiel was paying a lot of attention to you, apparently. And then his bodyguard gave you the money to buy those sticks, correct?”

Dean looks at his hot chocolate. “Correct.”

“What happened? And why are you so reluctant to tell?”

“It’s nothing big.”

“I’d say it is,” Benny says. “Hey, I’m not hurt or anythin’. I know how you can get. But I know how much of a crush you have on Novak so I was kind of expecting you to be full with that.”

“I’m just still stunned, I guess,” Dean says. He’s not sure why he’s so hesitant to say anything about saving Castiel. The meeting they had so unexpectedly is still filling his mind, and every second he closes his eyes he can see the actor’s face, so close to his own, and those kind eyes, so warm and gentle.

“Well, you can state that Castiel now officially supports you,” Benny says, lightening the atmosphere and pointing at Dean’s new sticks. 

Dean cracks a smile at that, then drinks some more hot chocolate to distract himself. He changes the subject after that, and Benny lets him. They talk about Dean’s baby, and Benny’s work.

Benny’s on the road a lot for his job, selling medical machinery to hospitals. 

“You still make me think of that guy from The Pursuit of Happiness,” Dean muses. 

“I hope that means that one day I’ll be just as rich,” Benny says with his easy drawl. “But I’ve been makin’ good money lately. Lookin’ to settle down and buy me a house. How’s Kansas to make a nest?”

“Hot,” Dean counters. “But it’s nice, I guess. ‘Course I have my family there.”

Dean doesn’t like how Benny’s face changes. “Just Bobby,” he says, as usual unafraid to point out the obvious. “Sam’s at school, and we both know he ain’t coming back when he’s graduated.”

“Until then, he comes home to me,” Dean says. He doesn’t like the mulish tone in his own voice.

“He will always be coming home to you,” Benny says, leaning in. “You are home to him. It don’t matter where you are.”

Dean flushes again, and looks down at his hands in his lap. He wishes he were healthy so he could support Sammy better. He wishes life would just be a little easier, sometimes.

“Hey,” Benny says, and when Dean looks up, Benny’s face is so close he can feel the other man’s breath. “You’re a good man, Dean. Everybody be seein’ that but you.”

Dean averts his gaze, but Benny places a hand at the back of his neck to make him meet his eyes again.

“You’re a hero, even if you’re not acknowledging it. I know you saved Castiel Novak from those muggers. I know what you did, and you’re so perfect because of it.”

Dean’s eyes widen, and he gulps, swallows, and then nearly chokes on his own spit. “What?”

“Nobody figured it out,” Benny says, taking away Dean’s biggest worry. “But I read in a news report they found some broken crutches in that alleyway. And you lost yours. Castiel spends a lot of time on you in autos. I put two and two together.”

“Shit,” Dean says. “You sure nobody knows?”

Benny shakes his head in confirmation. “I checked twitter and facebook and all the other media to check. Nobody ever mentioned you or described you. And it looks like Castiel Novak hasn't said anything, either.”

Dean exhales shakily. He never expected that things would actually keep quiet, but it looks like Castiel kept his word.

“Were you hurt?” Benny asks next, voice low. 

Dean shrugs. “Got a kick in the leg that bruised, but I’m fine.”

“You sure?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. He’ll have that bruise checked out, but he’s good for now. He can still move everything and now he can walk again, he can keep his circulation going. He’ll be fine.

“Okay,” Benny says. His free hand comes up to Dean’s leg, rubbing upwards slowly. Suggestively. “I’ve been thinkin’... I’ve missed you. And you deserve a reward for doing such a good thing. What do you say?”

The offer is clear. Dean considers. Sex with Benny is… good. Fantastic, even. Benny’s considerate with Dean’s abilities and limitations, he’s patient and caring and selfless in bed. It might be good to hold a warm body against his, to be skin on skin with someone, to be loved. He swallows a sudden lump in his throat. His sex life is non existent and with Benny, it would be easy. Like it always is.

And he’s so goddamned lonely that just a cuddle session would be pretty fucking awesome right now.

But something feels off. Dean chews on his lip, then meets Benny’s gaze. “Maybe not this time,” he says. His voice is rough. “Sorry.”

Benny sits back. Smiles as if he understands. “Okay, doll. I’ll let you know when I’m back around, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. Wanna go back? We can try and catch Charlie before the final panels of the day.”

Dean nods, then allows Benny to help him back in his chair so they can go back outside and hail a cab back to the hotel.

***  
Dean rejoins Charlie with Benny for the last panel of the day. Charlie insists on staying close to Dean, again, in favor of sitting with their friends. She moons over his new sticks and her happiness about them lifts him up even more. He finds himself genuinely smiling again, the tension of the day’s events finally starting to fade away.

The final panel is supposed to be with the three main supporting characters of the show, but Castiel crashes the panel much to everyone’s delight. The cast make jokes and answer questions. When someone in the audience asks whether they found the guy who actually helped Castiel, Castiel stills. The audience goes quiet with him, like they know something big is coming. 

Castiel gets up from his chair and walks to the front of the stage. He’s looking around the audience, eyes skirting over the many faces. Dean wonders how many people he can actually see. Castiel’s gaze flits over Dean, but it’s so quick he doubts Castiel even saw him before his gaze traveled farther. 

“You know,” Castiel starts, “in our childhoods, we grow up with stories about heroes. And one of the things that always got to me was, why do these heroes always want to stay hidden? Superman, Spider-man, Batman, they’re all hidden behind their alternate identities. Clark Kent, Peter Parker, Bruce Wayne. I always thought, if you’re a real hero, you should be proud of it and make yourself known.

“The night before last, I met a hero. He wasn’t wearing a fancy suit. He wasn’t even hiding his face. He’s a normal guy, like you and me. He just wanted to have a good time at this con. And when he saw me get mugged, he did not hesitate. He helped me, endangering himself in the process. When I asked at yesterday’s panel who helped me, he did not stand up or ask for attention. But I have found this hero. I have spoken to him. He’s asked me to keep his identity private, and I think I understand why. He is happy he was able to help me, and that’s all he needs to feel rewarded. As much as I’d like to call him by name and ask him on the stage, I won’t. But he’s here, in the audience, with us, right now. All I ask of you is that you give him a round of applause, because I am so, so grateful, I can’t express it in words. Maybe you can help me?”

And all around Dean, the audience erupts in applause and cheers so loud they’re deafening. Dean claps along, looks around himself like everybody else to see if he can spot the hero Castiel was talking about. His heart is hammering in his throat. Castiel kept his word, and still he found a way to thank Dean in a manner that makes total sense. A manner that Dean can’t possibly refuse.

He only notices he’s crying when Charlie carefully wipes his tears away with her thumbs. 

The applause and cheering seems to go on forever. Castiel keeps looking around the audience, but at one point he locks eyes with Dean so pointedly, Dean knows for sure Castiel has seen him. Then Castiel gives a salute in the general direction of the audience and he goes back to his seat, claiming he can’t keep stealing the other actors’ thunder. 

Dean doesn’t register much of the rest of the panel. He’s gripping Charlie’s hand so tightly it must hurt her, but she doesn’t say anything. Together they sit, completely in awe.

After the panel, Dean opts to skip dinner with his facebook friends so he can go lie down for a while. These days have been taxing for him and he needs to rest, especially with his trip back coming up tomorrow. His friends protest his choice, but Charlie accompanies him to his hotel room to make sure he can settle in comfortably.

“Do you want me to bring you some food later?” Charlie asks. “I can bring a burger or something.”

“Might be nice,” Dean says. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Anytime,” Charlie grins. “So, uh, Benny not coming up to join you?” she asks carefully.

Dean blushes and shakes his head. “Don’t feel right. And how the fuck do you know?”

Charlie shrugs, smirking. “I’m not blind, Dean, Jesus. Now, go to sleep or whatever, and text me when you’re hungry. I’ll come bring you stuff.”

“Thank you,” Dean says sincerely. “I mean it.”

“Good,” Charlie says cheekily. Then she bounces out of the room. 

Dean lies staring at the ceiling for a while after, thinking over everything that has happened during this con. Maybe he’ll tweet Castiel once he’s home, to thank him for everything. It’ll probably get lost in the many messages the man must receive on a daily basis, but he can always try. 

He’s nearly drifted off to sleep when his phone buzzes. He doesn’t check the name when answering, thinking it’ll be Sammy to ask about his day. 

“Y’ellow.”

“Dean.”

Christ, fuck, shit. 

“Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear from you!


	5. Now. Set shit on fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh my god,” Sam exclaims. “Are you with someone? Holy shit!”
> 
> “Ssh,” Dean says. “It’s not important.”
> 
> “I’d say it is. Did you get his number yet? Am I ever going to meet this guy?”

Even his voice gives Dean the chills.

“Where are you at?” John demands. “I’ve been at the shop yesterday but Bobby said you’ve taken a few days off. What do you need to slack for huh? You think Sam’s school is gonna pay itself?”

Dean grits his teeth. John’s obviously drunk, his voice slurring and uncoordinated. “What do you want?”

“I was just coming to check in on my son, who apparently has deemed it fit to go on a fucking holiday. Where did you get that money? If you have money to spare you better be pushing that towards paying off your debts.”

“Debts you caused,” Dean says lowly. He will end the phone call. He should end it now.

“Are you really still blaming me for that? You shouldn’t have been in the way, Dean. That’s what you get for meddling with other people’s business. Putting me in jail for that, too, you asshole. I was doing nothing wrong.”

“Anything in particular you wanted to discuss?” Dean asks, cutting in John’s rambling. “How much did you have to drink?”

“I drink however much I like, you son of a bitch. You have no right taking time for yourself, leaving others hanging. But you’re an egotistical asshole as always. I didn’t raise you right, no sir.”

“Nah, you didn’t raise me at all, thank fuck,” Dean says sharply. “Anything else?”

“You need to be home, Dean. What if something happens to Sammy and you’re not there? And you’re gonna leave Bobby hanging, too? That’s no way to show gratitude.”

“You aren’t even allowed to go there,” Dean says. He’s only barely keeping his voice under control - behind his ribs, his heart is hammering. “Leave us alone.”

“I visit whenever the hell I want to visit,” John slurs. “You’re my son. I get to see you whenever I want.”

“You wasted that right when you threw me off the stairs,” Dean says. “I’m ending this call. Was that all?”

“You never consider other people,” John snaps. “You only think about yourself. Wasting money wherever the fuck you are. What are you doing having fun anyway? What kind of a cripple goes out and has fun? Everybody always has to take you into consideration. You can’t even work proper hours but you can have a proper holiday?”

“Are you done?”

John always aims low like this. Always. Dean swallows. Don’t let it get to you, he tells himself. You’re better than this.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Dean,” John says.

“And I’m disappointed in you,” Dean grits before his dad can say anything else. He pulls the phone away from his ear and ends the call. He thinks he handled the conversation okay, but he hates it when his dad calls. It leaves him so rattled afterward. Even now, he’s shaking.

When after a few hours, and sixteen missed calls from John (and seven texts, but who’s counting), he hasn’t yet calmed down, he heaves himself into his chair and leaves his room for the hotel bar. Might as well waste money on drinks like his dad said he was doing. Dean laughs bitterly to himself. He is his father’s son, after all.

He orders a scotch at the bar and works himself up onto a barstool that has an actual back he can lean against. Then he checks his phone. Some posts in the group from the dinner he’s missed, and a general tweet from Castiel about the nice people he’s met in a nearby bar. Dean types a tweet himself, annoyed with how his dad has managed to ruin his good mood.

**Sometimes I’m really sad you don’t get to choose your family**

It’s appropriately vague. If John ever finds Dean’s social media handles - and Dean doubts he will - Dean can argue it wasn’t about him at all. He takes a picture of his glass with a clear backdrop of the hotel bar and hits send so the post is placed on facebook, twitter and instagram alike. It’s not a cry for attention. Or maybe it is. He hopes Sam won’t see it.

Shit. He should’ve thought that through a little better.

But his phone only shows replies from people he knows online. Very few know what’s really going on with his dad, but Dean has hinted at their relationship being a complex one in the past. He gets only sympathy, and it helps settling his mood a little.

The hotel bar is nearly empty. Many people have already gone back home after the con, and it’s late, almost midnight. Dean will have time to pack his bags tomorrow before he leaves, so he’ll just enjoy himself here for now.

His phone lights up with a text from Charlie.

_U OK?_

**Yeah** , Dean types back.

_I’m at the other end of town, can’t get to you soon. You sure?_

**Sure** , Dean repeats. **Enjoying a drink. Gonna head to bed soon.**

“Would you like one more, sir?” the bartender asks when Dean’s glass is nearly empty.

“Nah, I think I’m heading to bed soon,” Dean says. He’s not even sure if he has enough money left for a second glass of scotch, anyway.

“Not so soon, I hope,” a familiar voice says behind him suddenly. Dean turns in his seat, wincing at the sudden movement, and gapes when he sees Castiel standing there. His hair looks adorably ruffled, and his smile is tired but genuine.

“Um,” Dean fumbles.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. He gestures to the empty seat next to him. “Is this seat taken?”

“No, go ahead,” Dean says. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Castiel says, smile widening. “I was hoping to find you here.”

“How did you know?”

“Your tweet,” Castiel says as if it’s perfectly normal for him to know what Dean’s up to on social media. “You okay?”

Dean gives a half smile. “Family crap.”

“Family don’t end in blood, you know,” Castiel says. It’s a famous quote from the show, and it makes Dean’s smile turn genuine.

“I know. My surrogate dad is proof of that.”

“Good.” Castiel nods at the bartender. “One more for Dean here. I’ll have the same.” He turns to Dean. “What were you having, anyway?”

“Scotch,” Dean says on a chuckle. Castiel is being funny and disarming, and it helps settle his nerves a bit. “Thank you for what you did during the panel. I really appreciate it.”

“The applause or me not naming you?” Castiel asks, perceptive. “And you’re welcome. Doctors say my lip should heal without a scar.”

Castiel’s face is still swollen, and with less makeup to cover the bruises, he looks worse than earlier that day.

“I’m glad,” Dean says. He clinks his refilled glass against Castiel’s when the actor holds it up for a salute. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They both drink. Dean can’t stop looking at Castiel and he feels awful because of it. But to see his favorite actor up close is such a miracle to begin with - let alone that he chose to sit beside Dean for a little bit and talk to him.

Dean’s phone buzzes. He looks at his screen John again. He rejects the call and puts his phone back down.

“Don’t ignore anyone on my behalf,” Castiel says. His voice is kind.

Dean shakes his head. “It’s not important.”

Castiel looks at him with slightly narrowed eyes, but apparently decides to let it go. “Have you enjoyed yourself at the conference?”

“Absolutely,” Dean says. “I’ve been looking forward to it for so long, and it couldn’t have been better. Well, it would have been better if you hadn’t been attacked, but I’m glad I was able to help.”

“And I thank you for it,” Castiel says. “Did you get new sticks?”

“I did. I have some money left. Shall I give that to you so you can give it back to Jake?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Keep it, it’s fine.”

Silence falls between them, but it’s not uncomfortable. Dean has the distinct impression that Castiel is unwinding after a long and taxing day, and that he doesn’t mind some quiet.

“Have you enjoyed it? Apart from the whole mugging thing, I mean.”

“Absolutely. Met some very special people,” Castiel says. He winks at Dean, and Dean nearly chokes on his drink. Is Castiel _flirting_ with him? No fucking way, he must be seeing things wrong.

“Well, you only noticed me because I saved your life and all that jazz,” Dean counters, the alcohol loosening his tongue. He’s glad to have his wit back but honestly, Castiel is way out of league, so he has precisely nothing to lose by playing along.

“I like to think we would’ve met even if you weren’t,” Castiel says, his voice turning serious. “But what am I saying. Sorry. It’s been a long day. You probably have a significant other at home.”

“Nah, I’m all lonesome,” Dean says. He lifts his glass to his lips again to hide how eagerly he is waiting for Castiel’s response.

“Really now? A guy like you? I would’ve sworn you were snatched up by someone.”

Dean kinda loves how Castiel isn’t being gender specific. But still. “I’m not exactly a catch. More like a trap.” He gestures at his chair.

Castiel raises his brows in genuine confusion. Then he frowns. “Do people actually make a fuss over that?”

Dean gives a crooked smile. “Not everybody is as open minded as you, Mr. Novak.”

“Please call me Castiel,” Castiel says. “Or Cas, whichever you prefer.”

Dean can only barely hide his surprise. From what he knows in interviews, Castiel only allows people he’s very close with to call him Cas. Is this a treat? Does this mean he considers Dean as someone in his inner circle? Or have all the interviews been wrong?

Or is Cas(tiel) looking for someone to take to bed tonight and forget about in the morning?

Christ, if only Dean could ever make sense of these kinds of situations. But he hasn’t dated since high school and he’s so fucking lost right now. He doesn’t even know if he would go with Castiel if the man so offered.

As if the man would ever offer.

Dean drinks again. He’s thoroughly confused.

His phone buzzes. Dean ignores the call.

“Don’t you need to get that?” Castiel asks gently. “It seems urgent?”

“It’s really not important,” Dean repeats. He frowns at his glass. John’s clearly on a roll. What an excellent way to ruin what should be the best night of his life.

He doesn’t even know how to get the conversation going again.

His reverie is broken when some people catch Castiel sitting at the bar. Dean stays out of their conversation. Cas is very nice to them, posing for pictures and talking to them. The small group ignores Den completely, which is just fine by him. Instead, he checks his phone.

Bit of a mistake, really.

He has eleven texts now from John. He catches a glance of them as they light up on his home screen.

_Asshole, be a man and pick up your phone._

_Don’t be a coward, Dean._

_Are you out with a bunch of sissies, is that it? I didn’t raise my son to be a fag. I should’ve worked harder to beat that out of you when you were younger._

_Wait till I find you. Ignoring your father like that._

_I’ll go find Sammy then. See what he has to say._

Dean nearly flips his shit when he reads that last text. His hands are shaking, Castiel and the group of fans forgotten when he limps off his chair, cursing under his breath at the blazing pain that shoots up his spine as he walks without support, and he walks off as he calls his dad.

“Such an easy target,” John drawls as he answers. “Do you hear that? I’m already driving, Dean. Gonna go to Sam. Since you had to go out and ignore everybody else, I’ll show you what happens if you don’t do your job.”

“You leave him alone,” Dean seethes. “You hear me, dad? You leave Sammy alone. He’s done nothing wrong. Turn that car around and go sleep it off. You’re drunk off your ass.”

“Nah, I think I’ll go to Sam. Seeing as you’re not around to protect him this time…”

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Dean snaps. God. He almost hopes John ends up in a ditch somewhere.

“We’ll see,” John taunts. “What are you gonna do about it, anyway?”

“Get your ass back in jail,” Dean says. “See if I don't.”

“I'm already in Utah. What are you going to do?”

Fuck. Shit. Utah? How long has John been driving? He must have already been on his way before he called Dean the first time. What the fuck?

“Don't hurt him,” Dean warns. “Don't you dare.”

John hangs up then, leaving Dean with nothing but silence.

He dials Sammy. It’s the dead of night there, he knows, and Sam of course does not pick up his phone. He tries Jess instead.

It takes forever, but she answers, her voice groggy. “Dean? What’s wrong?”

“Can I speak to Sam please? It’s urgent.”

“What is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dean says curtly. “Please, Jess.”

There’s some rustling at the other end of the line, and then Sam comes on the phone. “Goddammit, Dean, this better not be some prank.”

“Sammy, I’m so sorry,” Dean says, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have left home.”

There’s a confused silence. Then: “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Dad. He’s… he’s saying he’s coming for you. You have to be careful, okay?”

“Oh christ,” Sam curses. He’s scrubbing his face, Dean can tell. “But how is he coming here? What?”

“He's already in Utah. Or at least that's what he says. I think he's really coming for you this time.”

“I’ll look out for him. if he's in Utah, it’ll take him at least six, seven hours to get here. Do you think I should call the police?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “He’s lost it again.”

“Well, thanks for calling me,” Sam says. He sounds tired. “And don’t you go blaming yourself for this, okay? And don’t let it ruin your con.”

Dean barks a bitter laugh, but doesn’t respond.

“Think you can sleep?” Sam asks.

“Nah. But I have company at the bar.”

“Okay. Don’t get too drunk.”

“No dad,” Dean jokes, but it falls flat. He bids Sammy goodbye and then hangs up.

He pushes away from the table he’s been leaning against in a quiet corner of the bar, but his balance is fucked and he stumbles in an embarrassing display.

“Shit.” He leans back against the table, then casts a furtive glance into the direction of the bar. Castiel is still there, but the fans have gone.

Castiel is looking at him.

So much for a sneaky retreat, then.

Castiel gets up and walks over to him. “Family crap, huh?”

“Eh,” says Dean. “You heard?”

Castiel nods. “Some snippets. Anything I can do?”

Dean chuckles humorlessly. “Nah. But thanks.”

“Come on,” Castiel says. He wraps an arm around Dean’s back and helps him find his balance. Together, they shuffle back into the direction of the bar. Castiel is surprisingly strong and he holds Dean steadily. Dean is a little overwhelmed by his presence. Castiel smells really nice, too.

And he's handsome up close.

He's caught ogling when Castiel suddenly looks at him. His eyes are a startling blue, and they crinkle at the corners when he smiles. The moment feels electric, but Dean is quite sure he must be imagining things.

Castiel helps him back up on the stool and picks up his own drink. “Is Sam your brother?”

“Yeah. He's a few years younger than I am. He's at Stanford and he's going to be a lawyer. I'm so damned proud of him.”

“That's great,” Castiel says. “And what do you do for a living?”

Dean spares a moment to be surprised at how Castiel seems to be so willing to continue their conversation, but he'll soak up every minute of time he can get with this man. So Dean pushes every thought of his father to the back of his brain and tells about his job at Bobby’s shop, and how he's specializing in restoring classic cars. He tells Cas about baby, and Castiel listens so intently, as if he's actually interested in what Dean has to say.

“You sound happy when you talk about your brother, and your car,” Castiel observes. “It's wonderful to see how you cherish these things.”

“Yeah, well, ain't got too much to be proud of myself,” Dean says with a shrug. “Gotta find it elsewhere.”

He doesn't like the way Castiel’s face falls at that.

“Don't look at me like that. I don't even have a high school diploma.”

“How come?”

Castiel's voice is so gentle, so kind, and Dean finds himself again wanting to tell Castiel everything about his pain, his body, his struggles. He swallows the strange urge away and shrugs instead, gesturing vaguely at his body.

“Life got in the way, I guess.”

“You can always get a GED,” Castiel says encouragingly. “It's never too late for that.”

“Can't afford that,” Dean says quietly. “But it's okay, really. I never was a star student, anyway. Hey, your next con is next week, right? Are you looking forward to it?”

“I am. Why are you changing the subject?”

Dean blushes at being caught. “Because you're way more interesting to be talking about?”

“I highly doubt it,” Castiel says. He suppresses a yawn, then checks the time. “Let me make an indecent proposal. I'd like to invite you up to my hotel room for a nightcap. What do you say to that?”

“I…” Dean looks at Castiel, trying to read his face. He's had the sense that Castiel was still flirting with him, but it seems so improbable given all the crap Dean's already laid bare about himself. “Are you sure?”

“Not looking for a fuck or anything,” Castiel says bluntly. “But I'm finding you to be a fascinating person and I'd like to spend a little more time with you. You know, talk some more?”

“You realize I'm a huge fan of yours, right? How can you be sure I'm not going to do something weird?”

Castiel actually laughs at that, and oh, it's a lovely sound. “Dean. You saved my guts and refused to let anybody know it was you, including me. Somehow I don't think you have an ulterior motive right now.”

And, well, he has a point, obviously.

Dean’s phone buzzes again. John. Dean ignores the call and tries to focus back on Castiel, who just invited him to his hotel room. Castiel casts a glance at Dean’s buzzing phone, but then looks back at him. “What do you say? Feel free to say no.”

“Like hell I am,” Dean says, smile widening.

Castiel grins. He gestures for the bartender to put both their drinks on his bill, to which Dean futilely protests, and then gets up.

“I’m trusting you to tell me what you need in terms of help,” Castiel says. “I don’t want to coddle you.”

Dean lowers himself from the bar stool gingerly, then sits down in his chair. “That’s actually really nice,” he says. He swivels his chair and indicates he’ll navigate himself alongside Castiel. It’s only then that Dean notices Jake, who has been keeping to the shadows, following them. Dean tilts his chin in greeting, getting a nod in return. He’d tell the guy about his fancy new sticks, but it’s obvious the man is on duty, and Dean doesn’t want to distract him.

Castiel keeps an easy stream of conversation going as they make their way to the elevator, then to his suite. Maybe it’s Dean’s imagination, but he’s feeling a definite buzz between them. It doesn’t help he’s had a crush on the guy for so long he can’t make sense of any of the signals Castiel seems to be sending out. Does he smile a lot? Does he lean towards Dean when he talks? Or is he just being nice to a cripple?

Castiel’s suite is grand, of course. Dean gapes at the luxury of the living room. The bedroom is off to the side, double doors closed. Fresh flowers are on the coffee table, filling the place with a subtle but pleasant scent.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” Castiel asks as he makes his way over to the mini bar.

“Just water is fine,” Dean says. “Honestly, I’ve had enough at the bar just now.”

“You okay with me having a drink then?” Castiel asks. He’s looking over his shoulder at Dean to wait for his reaction.

“Of course,” Dean says, frowning. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“I… well,” Castiel starts, then stops. He pours himself a drink, gets a bottle of water for Dean, and then joins Dean in the living room area of the suite. “If the couch is more comfortable, feel free,” he says. He kicks off his shoes and sinks down on the couch himself, tucking up his legs under him.

Dean accepts the invitation and moves to the couch as well. He’ll leave his shoes on for now - bending over forward to get to his feet is painful enough to do twice a day. He doesn’t feel the need to add to that.

“Hi,” Castiel says when Dean has settled. “Thanks for joining me.”

“I think I can safely say the pleasure’s all mine,” Dean says. He opens his bottle to take a drink. “Do you do this often?”

“Take people to my room? Never,” Castiel says. “Jake can attest to that, don’t you?”

“Never,” Jake responds.

Just how the fuck did Dean miss that man joining them? But Jake is off to the side at the dining table, reading a paper. Unobtrusive, but there. For Castiel’s safety.

As grateful as Dean is for having been invited up, it feels kinda weird to have a bodyguard with them. It’s not like Dean is actually going to try something, sheesh.

Then again, there has been that episode where a fan broke into Castiel’s hotel room and crawled into bed with him while Castiel was sleeping, so there’s that.

Castiel starts their conversation back up, and it doesn’t take long for Dean to forget that Jake is still there. When Jake finally packs up and leaves, Dean expects to be kicked out, but Castiel gives no such indication so Dean stays. He’s tired as hell and his back aches, but he’s not going to miss a minute of being with Castiel, no matter what it takes.

They talk about the show, about Castiel’s passion for acting, what he wants to do after the show ends. Dean of course knows a few fan theories about plot lines in the show and his heart soars when he can make Castiel laugh by sharing them.

Dean’s feeling rosy with sleep when Castiel clears his throat and asks carefully how Dean got his chair.

Dean shrugs, then winces and shifts. Decides to tell the less-dramatic version of the story.

Castiel makes a sympathetic sound. “How old were you?”

“Thirteen,” Dean says. “I think I miss running most.”

Castiel, an avid runner himself, nods in understanding.

Dean tells Castiel about how he lives with his boss, Bobby, and how Bobby has converted the garage in his backyard into a studio Dean can live in. It’s great, since he can be by himself completely, but when he wants some company or is having more challenging days, he’s welcome to join Bobby for dinner.

“And Bobby is your surrogate dad?” Castiel asks, remembering what Dean said earlier.

“Yeah. He’s awesome.”

“I’m glad you have him. And your brother sounds like an amazing guy, too.”

“You should meet him,” Dean says. “He’s wicked smart.”

“Maybe someday,” Castiel says, and that’s when Dean realizes what he’s actually been saying.

“God, I’m sorry. I know this is just a one time thing. Don’t listen to my rambling, I-”

“Dean,” Castiel says, interrupting him gently. He places his glass on the coffee table and shifts closer. “Do I really need to make it any more obvious to you?”

… What?

“What?”

“I really like you. I think you’re fascinating, and not just because you helped me or refused acknowledgment for that. But apparently my flirtation game is off, because it seems I’ve been going about this all wrong.”

“You… what?”

Castiel chuckles at that, a soothing, light sound. “Or am I reading you completely wrong?”

“God, no. I’ve had a thing for you since forever. And, well.” Dean blushes furiously and ducks his head. “Tonight hasn’t exactly changed that.”

“Great,” Castiel says, a winning smile appearing on his face. “Now that we’re on the same page again, please may I kiss you? I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“Guh,” is Dean’s brilliant response. “Please,” he croaks after that.

Castiel leans in immediately, a warm hand coming up to cup his face.

He smiles so sweetly at Dean, and it's completely disarming. Then soft, dry lips touch his own and Dean lets his eyes fall closed as he drowns in the kiss. It's careful and chaste, but no less special because of it. Dean can faintly feel the swelling in Cas’ lip, and he hopes he won’t accidentally hurt the man.

When Castiel pulls back after a long moment, Dean is the one smiling like he just won the lottery. And, well, he kinda just did. Castiel gives that grin right back and leans back in to kiss Dean some more. He shifts closer without breaking contact, swiping his tongue at the seam of Dean’s lips to ask for access even as Dean registers Castiel’s body sliding closer.

Dean brings his hands up, shy, to wrap around Castiel's shoulders. He gets an encouraging hum for that so he holds on tighter, pulling Castiel closer until the other man is half in his lap.

“This okay?” Castiel murmurs.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, breathless. “Yeah.” He pulls Castiel closer still, thanking the powers that be that it doesn't hurt him to have Castiel on top of him like this. He cups the back of Cas’ head and sifts his fingers through the silky hair. Dean huffs a silent laugh when he realizes they both get goosebumps from the gesture.

“God, you're a fantastic kisser,” Castiel says against Dean's mouth.

“Takes one to know one,” Dean quips, and this time Castiel chuckles. He kisses a trail along Dean's jaw, down his jugular to nuzzle at the hollow beneath his ear.

“And you smell good, too,” Castiel says, his breath coming out in puffs against Dean's skin. Dean shivers at the sensation.

It's been so long since he's been touched like this, since anybody even complimented him. He hangs on to Castiel, wanting to crawl inside the man and never leave.

“Are you staying?” Castiel asks. “We can just cuddle if you don't want to do anything else. It's just… god, Dean, I can't explain what you do to me. I know I sound like a lunatic but-”

“Ssh,” Dean says. “I feel the same.” And he does. Somehow, during this night, Castiel has dropped all masks and layers and now he's just a man who is as stunned at this connection as Dean is. It still feels a bit weird to Dean to be here like this when he's been admiring Cas from afar for so long, but then again he would've gone home with him after this night even if he hadn't been a celebrity.

“It must've been divine intervention that it was you who saw me get mugged,” Castiel says. “Has to be.” His head is still hidden in Dean's neck, and his hands are rubbing insistently all over his torso, like he can't get enough touch.

“Well, the universe owed me,” Dean chuckles darkly.

Castiel pulls back to look at him. He touches Dean temple and the gesture is so unexpectedly sweet that Dean has to blink away sudden emotion. “You need some good things,” Castiel says decisively. “Are you staying?”

Dean says “Yes,” but what he thinks is _hooooooooly shit_.

Castiel smiles, then moves up and away from the couch. Dean feels cold where Cas’ body heat is no longer pressing against him. But Castiel holds out his hands to help Dean to his feet, and Dean lets himself be pulled up.

“Can you walk to the bedroom? Or do you want your chair?”

“I can try walking,” Dean says. “But I'd like my chair near the bed.”

Castiel nods. He's holding both of Dean's hands in his, his support solid but not coddling. He helps Dean keep his feet and he walks backwards to his bedroom as Dean shuffles along. Castiel throws him off balance a few times by kissing him, but then his arms come up around Dean to hold him steady.

Holy shit, he thinks when Castiel helps him sink down onto the bed. This is really happening.

Castiel leaves for a moment and comes back with Dean’s chair. Then he crawls over Dean, pushing him back on the bed and covering him with his body. His lips are on Dean’s and his hands are in Dean's hair. Dean holds on to Cas in return, clutching him close like it might be taken away at any moment.

“Okay if I take off your shoes, your shirt?” Castiel asks.

Dean nods, and Cas ducks down to unlace Dean’s boots and take them off. He's back up quickly, sliding his warm, warm hands underneath Dean's shirts and pushing them up. His muscles move under Cas’ touch, contracting as his body arches into the heat of those hands. Castiel keeps humming, murmuring praise, but Dean is only half tracking it. He starts pulling at Castiel's shirt and the other man obliges beautifully, taking it off in a smooth movement.

When he comes back down on Dean, skin on skin, an involuntary sound escapes him. It's been so long since he had this, and tears burn in his eyes. He squeezes them shut to prevent them from falling.

Castiel kisses him, slow and sweet. Dean’s erection is growing quickly, pressing against the zipper of his jeans. He presses his hips up, seeking friction, and is pleased to learn that Castiel is aroused, too. Dean moves his hands to Castiel's hips, keeping him close.

They rut together like that, until Castiel's deft fingers undo the buttons of both their jeans. At Dean’s encouraging “yeah”, Castiel kicks off his own pants and then rears back to help Dean take off his own.

Castiel's body is the epitome of perfection. Not an ounce of fat to be found on him, his muscles well defined without being bulky. Dean spares a moment just to look at him, running his hands over all that skin. Castiel in turn is looking down at Dean, eyes roving all over his torso. Dean has an extra strong upper body, courtesy of moving around using his arms, but since he can still use his legs he's still in proportion somewhat.

His scars are mostly on his back, thankfully, so Castiel won't have to see them.

But then Castiel pulls back further and looks at the dark purple bruise on Dean's hip.

“Oh baby,” Cas says sadly. “Did you take that for me?” His fingers ghost over the bruise. “Does it hurt?”

“Only when I touch it,” Dean lies. “Get back here.” He makes grabby hands at Cas, who obliges and lowers himself back over Dean's body.

Cas stamps kisses down Dean's jugular, over his clavicle and down his sternum. He makes his way over to a nipple and sucks on it so gently that Dean's back arches into the touch. Dean's hands are in Cas’ hair, carding through the strands as he lets himself be touched. He can't help but feel like he should be the one taking care of Cas, but at the same time he can't bring himself to care when Cas is tending to him so sweetly.

They roll over on their sides, and Cas guides Dean's thigh over his own. “This okay?” He asks against Dean's mouth.

“Yeah,” Dean murmurs. “Yeah. God, Cas. Feels good.” He's kissing Cas like he's drowning, rutting his erection against Castiel’s. If he keeps this up he's going to come in his boxers, but right now he can't bring himself to care. He just wants to get closer.

“Touch me,” Cas pleads. “Please.”

Taking the invitation to heart, Dean lets his free hand roam down Cas’ back, reveling in the muscles he can feel moving under his fingers. His touch ghosts down, until he dips the tips of his fingers in the waistband of Cas’ boxers. Cas bucks against him, encouraging Dean to continue, so Dean cups that glorious ass to pull it closer.

He loses his rhythm when a hand slips into the front of his boxers and closes around his erection.

“Oh Jesus,” Dean pants, “I'm not gonna last like this.”

“Then let go,” Castiel breathes against his mouth. He kisses Dean, hot and wet, and the pressure of his hand around Dean's cock is just perfect. Dean's vision goes a little fuzzy around the edges but he tries to keep up the rhythm, to give Cas some pleasure, too.

And in the end, Cas comes first. Dean looks, enthralled, at Cas’ face. Void of all tension, eyes squeezed shut and mouth lax, he is a sight to behold. It's enough to send Dean over the edge as well, and the orgasm seems to come right out of his toes. Castiel guides him through it, bringing him down gently.

“Holy,” Dean murmurs when they both have their breathing back under control. His spunk is cooling quickly inside his boxers and it feels icky. He imagines Castiel must feel the same.

Castiel opens his eyes to look at him, and his gaze is so fucking bright it takes Dean's breath away.

“Thank you,” Castiel says.

“Likewise,” Dean responds, his voice still thready.

“Will you stay?” Castiel asks. “I'd love for you to stay.”

Dean knows it's a bad idea to do so. He knows he is reading way too much into this and that even if he spends the night here, he will just be another notch in Castiel's bed post. That he will have to bear the pain of losing someone he loves even if that love was never meant to be at all.

But he can't refuse. The promise of spending the night in the arms of a man he admires and adores so much is too tempting to refuse. And so he nods, earning a winning smile and a kiss from Castiel, who gets up off the bed like he weighs nothing and disappears into the bathroom.

He comes back a little later in fresh underwear and with a washcloth, which he places on the nightstand. Then, without preamble, he pulls Dean's soiled boxer briefs down. Dean protests, meaning he doesn’t need any help, but he can't do anything against Cas cleaning him up and then pulling a clean pair of briefs up his legs.

Dean knows this is not even coddling. It's Castiel trying to take care of Dean like he would take care of any lover. He's just too considerate.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbles, shy. This is fucking amazing. 

“Anytime,” Castiel says. He crawls back up Dean's body and places a fat kiss on his mouth. “Sleep?”

Dean nods. “I have to pee. Am I breaking the spell?”

Castiel laughs at that, easy and unabashed. “I could use a toothbrush, too. I'll get you one. Come on.”

He takes Dean's hands and helps him off the bed carefully, then wraps Dean’s arm around his neck for support and guides him to the bathroom.

“How much can you walk on your own?” Castiel asks conversationally when he gets him a toothbrush.

“Not very far anymore,” Dean says. He’s leaning on the counter and angles himself so that Cas can't see his scarred back. “Muscle degeneration is inevitable. And I'm tired, which doesn't help.”

“I'm tired too,” Castiel says, a propos of nothing. “As much as I love all these people, it wears me out.”

“You give them so much of your energy,” Dean says. He spits, then rinses. “Everybody adores you.”

Castiel shoots him a sad glance. “Not everybody. The hate has been insane lately.”

They take care of business, then crawl into bed. Castiel beats Dean to it and pulls him back against him so Dean is the little spoon. Dean stiffens at the unexpected closeness, but then he feels Cas’ lips against the back of his neck and he exhales, letting go of the tension. Cas’ hand covers his own, their fingers intertwining.

“Don't listen to the hate,” Dean says. “You're better than that.”

“I can’t help but wonder sometimes how unhappy someone has to be to go off on someone else that way. I just want to help.”

“And you do,” Dean assures him. It breaks his heart to know that the negativity hurts Castiel. But he can't take it away. He can however twist his neck - back be damned - and seek a kiss. Castiel obliges. The touch is soft, comforting, and achingly familiar.

“Let’s go to sleep,” Castiel says quietly. He turns off the light. “Jake will wake us around eight, is that okay?”

“Sure,” Dean murmurs. Castiel's body is warm against his back, and he's cocooned in a hug. It's awesome, and he's out like a light before he can wonder if he will be able to sleep.

They don't make it till eight.

Dean would've loved to have been woken up by sweet kisses and some more awesome sex, but instead his phone buzzes. It doesn't wake Cas so he ignores it at first, but when the caller tries for the third time, he’ll at least have to turn off his phone. It's probably his dad again.

But it's Sam.

“Hi,” he whispers. Well crap, so much for sneaking out of the room. Getting into his chair alone would wake Castiel up, for sure.

“Dean, sorry to wake you. I just wanted to say that dad did show up here. He was drunk. I called the cops and they took him. He's probably sleeping off his hangover in a cell right now. But I'm okay, and Jess is, and the front door is damaged but we'll fix that, no worries okay?”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says slowly. “I didn't think he would actually do it.”

“Me either, to be honest,” Sam says. “So thanks for calling. We set an alarm and were waiting for him when he came.”

“He's lost his mind,” Dean mutters. “He's really lost his damn mind this time.”

“I’m worried he’s going to come for you when he gets out,” Sam says. “He’ll probably lose his license this time, but god knows that never stopped him from actually driving.”

“I’ll deal with that when he gets here,” Dean says lowly. “Not much more he can do to hurt me, anyway.”

“If he breaks his restraining order again, you can call the cops on him,” Sam says reasonably.

Dean grits his teeth. “I know. But that usually makes it so much worse. He’s never going to stop.”

They’re quiet for a long time, both struggling with their own thoughts.

“Dean? Everything okay?” Castiel murmurs. He moves over to where Dean is sitting at the edge of the bed, curling his sleepwarm body around Dean’s back. A warm hand comes up to rub over his shoulders. Dean closes his eyes and lets the touch wash over him.

“Sorry,” he says quietly to Castiel. ”I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh my god,” Sam exclaims. “Are you with someone? Holy shit!”

“Ssh,” Dean says. “It’s not important.”

“I’d say it is. Did you get his number yet? Am I ever going to meet this guy?”

Dean glances over at Castiel, who has already drifted back off to sleep. “I hope so,” he says against better judgment. And maybe he should ask for Castiel’s number. He can always try, right?

“Hey, Sammy, thanks for calling. I am traveling today so I want to catch all the sleep I can get, okay? I’ll call you when I get home.”

“Yeah, sure, sleep, uh-huh,” Sam says. There’s laughter in his voice. “Please use a condom, okay?”

“Fuck you,” Dean says good-naturedly. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean hangs up without saying anything else, a smile on his face. Sammy always bounces back from altercations with their dad so easily. It really is something to admire.

When Dean crawls back under the covers, Castiel's strong arms wrap around him suddenly, pulling him back against a strong, warm body.

“Want to talk about it?”

Yes. “Nah.”

“Is your brother all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Castiel says. His voice is drowsy. “Maybe I’ll meet him someday.”

Dean smiles sadly. Castiel is sliding back into sleep behind him, and he has no idea just how much Dean would love for that promise to be true. “Maybe,” he whispers into the dark.

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You make my day by leaving a word!


	6. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Holy shit. Is that who I think it is? Tell me that’s who I think it is!”
> 
> “Who?” Dean asks, feigning ignorance.
> 
> Castiel, who can probably hear Charlie’s high pitched screech from where he's sitting, chuckles. “Scrambled eggs, maybe? Some coffee?”

The next morning Jake wakes them as promised. Dean wants to disappear in a hole in the ground when Jake appears in the bedroom, telling them the time and how long they have to get out of bed. He doesn’t bat an eye at the fact that Dean has spent the night here, and again Dean wonders if he really is the first Castiel has done this with, or if he’s one of countless nameless, faceless people.

Nevertheless, Castiel grumbles something and the moment Jake has left the room again, he rolls on top of Dean to nuzzle into his neck.

“Morning,” he murmurs. “Sleep well?”

“Very, thank you.”

“Me, too. Better than in a while, if I’m honest. What time does your flight leave?”

“Noon,” Dean says. He doesn’t even want to think about the fact that half an hour from now, he’ll probably be out of Castiel's life, forgotten and erased.

“Mine is at eleven. I’d offer you a ride to the airport but if anybody sees us there’ll be pictures. And I think you don’t want that.”

Castiel is right, even if it hurts. “Nah, I’m good. Charlie and I will share a cab.” Dean’s phone rings, and when he checks who is calling, he laughs. “Speak of the devil.”

“Dean, Christ, where are you? I’ve been knocking on your hotel room forever. Are you not there?”

Oh, oops. “Eh, no.”

“Shall we order some breakfast here?” Castiel asks behind him. He is sitting up in bed, sheets folded around his hips, and his hair looks adorably rumpled. Before he leaves, Dean vows, he will taste those abs. He will.

“Holy shit. Is that who I think it is? Tell me that’s who I think it is!”

“Who?” Dean asks, feigning ignorance.

Castiel, who can probably hear Charlie’s high pitched screech from where he's sitting, chuckles. “Scrambled eggs, maybe? Some coffee?”

“It totally is!” Charlie squeals. “Holy shit Dean! How did you manage that?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Dean says, affected by her happiness.

“Will you see him again? Please tell me you’re seeing him again.”

“I don’t know, Charles. I got to go, okay? I’ll come to my room soon to pack.”

“Sure. I’ll want all the juicy details,” she says salaciously, then disconnects.

“Are we seeing each other again?” Cas asks the moment Dean takes his phone away from his ear.

Dean turns so he can face Castiel. “I hope so. Are we?”

Castiel smiles, but there’s too much sadness leaking through to be reassuring. Dean's heart breaks a little.

“Let’s do breakfast,” he says before Castiel makes promises he won’t be able to keep. “Otherwise you’ll miss your flight.”

“Yeah,” Castiel says. He reaches for the phone by the bed to dial room service. As he rattles off the order, Dean takes his chance and dives in, kissing all over Cas’s chest, licking a nipple, before he trails down those glorious abs. Cas even tastes fantastic, what do you know.

When Cas has hung up the phone, he chuckles darkly. “Tease. Come up here.”

Dean kisses his way back up and then kisses Castiel. They don’t do much more but make out until the food comes, but it’s enough for Dean. He will have these memories for the rest of his life, and if he ever gets lonely, he knows he can revisit this night and warm up the cold emptiness he always feels inside.

Breakfast is a quiet affair. They talk some more. Castiel tries to ask him about Dean’s phone call last night, but Dean diverts the conversation to their upcoming plans. When it’s time for Cas to start getting ready to leave, Dean swallows a lump in his throat. He is dressed in yesterday’s clothes, with Castiel’s boxers still underneath. If anything, he’ll have that as a souvenir.

“I had a great time with you,” Cas says as they make their way over to the hotel room door. “Have all your things?”

“Yes,” Dean says. He’s looking up at Castiel from his chair. “I had a great time, too. Thanks.”

Castiel leans in and kisses Dean one final time, so soft that it sends shivers down Dean’s spine. “Hang in there,” he tells Dean when he pulls back just enough so he can speak. “You’re a wonderful person, Dean. Don’t ever forget that.”

Dean gives a watery smile, and then he’s outside the hotel room where he has spent the best night of his life, wheeling himself to his own room, and out of Castiel’s life.

He’s quiet when he packs. Charlie helps him, and she seems to sense his mood as she’s not pressing for information. When they arrive at the airport and have to go to their own gates, he makes the effort of getting out of his chair so he can hug her properly.

“Thank you,” he says. His voice is thin, and catches in his throat.

“Always,” Charlie says. “Wish I could stay with you longer. When you’re ready to talk about it, call me and we’ll hash it all out, okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I will. I had a great time with you. Thank you,” he repeats.

“Me too. And thank you, too.”

As Charlie’s flight is announced, Charlie pulls back and helps Dean lower himself back in his chair.

“Let me know when you get home?”

“Same goes for you,” Charlie says. “I have to go. Bye, Dean.”

“Bye,” Dean says, but Charlie is already gone, running so she won’t actually be too late for her flight. Dean makes his way over to his own gate slowly. He has a few bucks left to spend so he treats himself to a cup of coffee. Even though he slept well, he’s positively exhausted.

Being with Castiel had been so special… and he’s pretty sure he’s not reading into things, either. Castiel felt it, too. Yet at the same time he’s quite sure that he will never hear of the man again. He didn’t even get to ask for his number, and how’s that for a fucked up situation?

He arrives at the gate early and reports to the staff already there. He could have gotten assistance from security on, but he likes having a bit of control over his whereabouts. When the gate opens, he’s transferred to a special chair and then put into his seat before anybody else gets on the plane.

Even if being in a flying metal tube of death, Dean’s out like a light before the plane has even left the gate.

To his surprise, Bobby is waiting for him when Dean comes through those double doors. He smiles wide, his happiness showing as Bobby waves at him.

“No balloons or anythin’,” Bobby says gruffly. “But I figured you'd like a car trip better than riding the bus home.”

“Absolutely,” Dean says. “Thanks, Bobby.”

Bobby takes his bag from the airport assistant and slings it over his shoulder as he steers Dean's chair into the direction of the exit.

“How was it?”

“God, Bobby. It was great. It was so, so great.”

And Dean means it, too.

It's only when they're on the highway and Dean is close to nodding off again, that Bobby starts talking.

“So your dad came by.”

“Here too?” Dean asks. He knows, because Sam told him, but Sammy wasn’t supposed to tell Dean, so.

“Yep. He wasn't in a good place.”

“I know,” Dean mutters. “He actually drove over to Sammy, too.”

“Yeah, Sam called,” Bobby rumbles. “John’s still in a cell there. Hit a couple cars apparently.”

“Crap.” That's gonna be a fine. And the bill for repairs. And John doesn't have a dime to spare. Dean estimates the chances to be exactly 100% that he's going to end up paying for that, too.

“You ain't picking up his bills, boy,” Bobby warns. “I'm not letting ya.”

Tough luck, Dean thinks. If John can't pay the creditors, they will come for him eventually anyway. He sighs, and looks at his phone to distract himself. Maybe he can send a tweet to Castiel. Not that he needs his heart broken any further than it already is. Maybe a direct message then. He is a bit of a masochist, after all.

_Almost home. Thanks for a wonderful weekend. Thanks for letting me get to know you. I won't forget it easily. I hope you got home safe, too._

He agonizes over the message for a while after he has sent it, wondering if it's too close, too personal, but then it's already sent anyway. Cas won't read it, likely, and even if he does, he may not remember Dean. And in the unlikely event that he does, well, he will probably ignore the message.

So.

Dean clears his throat and asks Bobby about that classic car that arrived in the shop last week.

It's as good a distraction as any.

It's pretty fucked up for how tired he is, but Dean can't sleep. It doesn't help that Bobby didn't let him out in a few hours at the shop, or that Bobby had done some groceries so Dean didn't come home to an empty fridge. It doesn't help that John has been calling all fucking night for Dean to come pick him up in fucking California.

As if he's driving 1800 freaking miles to go get his dad.

As if he's not guilt ridden for refusing to do so.

Christ.

He tosses and turns and has just flipped on his light to read a little when his phone buzzes again. It's a number he doesn't recognize.

“I swear to god, dad, if you don't stop harassing me-”

“Whoa, it's just me,” a low, gravelly voice says at the other end of the line.

Holy shit.

“Cas?”

“Yeah,” Castiel says. “Not who you were expecting, huh.”

“Eh, no,” Dean says. He lies back and scrubs his face with his free hand. “Hi.”

“Hello, Dean. I just wanted to check if you got home okay. And to thank you for your message. And I just wanted to hear your voice again.”

Dean relaxes at those words, the ache in his back finally easing. “Did you, now.”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes. I'm weak. How are you?”

“Well, let’s say I was having a better time this time last night,” Dean responds. “You?”

“Just about the same. Jet lagged a little. I'm sorry I was in a rush to leave this morning.”

“Hey, we knew that from the beginning, right?” Dean is fronting, making his voice sound calmer and more certain than he's feeling.

“Yeah. But I don't know. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I'm all yours,” Dean says. He turns to his side. His bed feels a hundred times more comfortable all of a sudden.

“Want to tell me a little about your situation at home?” Castiel asks carefully.

“Man, I'd rather talk about the life expectancy of sea slugs,” Dean counters. “Seriously.”

“Okay,” Castiel says on a laugh, and he launches into a story of a star struck stewardess he met on the plane.

Dean just listens, smiles and soaks up Cas’ energy.

“A year, by the way,” Cas says suddenly, interrupting himself.

“What?”

“The life expectancy of sea slugs. It’s about a year.”

Dean laughs so hard he’s pretty sure Bobby must’ve heard it in the main house.

They talk for hours. It's nearly morning when they finally hang up, and if Dean arrives at the shop with bags under his eyes, he doesn't care. He takes care of the cars and uses his breaks to sleep and check with Sammy to make sure John hasn't pulled any other crap.

And then it gets quiet. Dean doesn't hear from his dad for a few weeks, and Sam assures him he hasn't seen a sign of their father, either. It's… weird. And so peaceful that Dean almost forgets just how much of a storm John blew up so short a while ago.

It helps that Castiel keeps calling. In the beginning, Dean kept expecting for those calls to taper off, but they don't. And instead of weekly, the calls slowly increase to every few days, until Cas is calling daily. Just to check in. Just to say hi. To tell him of something funny that happened. And Dean has Cas’ number now too so he can call right back.

It's awesome.

They never seem to run out of things to talk about. Dean tells him eventually about what really happened to fuck up his back. And how much John is still messing up his life. Castiel listens, and never judges.

Dean finds himself longing for those strong arms around his body. For that mouth back on his. He fantasizes about having Castiel in his arms, in his bed. Inside his body.

Oh, the longing.

If Castiel notices, he doesn't let on.

Maybe it's better that way. Maybe Cas sees him as a friend and Dean's ridiculously happy to have that. They've moved from direct messages to twitter flirting and people are curious who this guy with a ‘67 chevy Impala as an icon is. Charlie knows, and she squeals for Dean, cheers him on and comforts him when Cas is away a few days and not able to call. The rest of the Facebook people are keeping quiet too, for now.

Dean is so in love it hurts.

And then of course everything goes to hell.

John finds his way home, somehow, and shows up at Bobby's shop unexpected. Bobby tries to stop John from entering bodily, but John manages to get inside anyway. Dean is too late to see him coming and he is caught leaning over a car, unbalanced, unable to do anything.

John hits him so hard he blacks out before he hits the ground.

Good news, it puts John back in jail.

Bad news, Dean has a shiner like you've read about.

His head aches, but he tries to work the day after anyway. Keeps his mind off things. Castiel didn't call the night before or answer his phone and Dean is ticked off because of it, he won't lie. He would've liked to unload a little, tell Castiel what happened. Instead he got drunk with Bobby, which was the next best thing, but still.

Still.

He's lost in his thoughts, sorting through some tools he'll need to tinker on his own baby when Bobby calls from the front of the shop.

“Dean! Guy’s here claiming he wants to buy your Impala. You better not be considering that, boy. You're not too old for me to tan your hide, you know.”

Fuck that. “Car’s not for sale!” Dean shouts back. “Tell him to fuck off.”

“Really? Such a shame,” a familiar voice says behind him suddenly.

Dean's face splits in a huge smile even before he has turned his chair around. In front of him is Castiel, looking travel tired, in a leather jacket and wearing a backpack.

“You're here,” is all Dean can say. He reaches up so Castiel can pull him out of his chair, and the man obliges, lifting Dean to his feet. Dean stands a little taller than Castiel, and his eyes fall closed when strong arms wrap around his back comfortingly.

“Couldn't stay away any longer,” Castiel says close to Dean’s ear. He nuzzles into Dean's neck, pressing a kiss there before he inhales, scenting him. “I've told myself we could just be friends. But I couldn't. I can't. I'm sorry.”

They've never discussed any visits over the phone, since Dean knew deep down he shouldn't push Cas into that, that Cas never expected anything to happen. That that was the reason why he was so sad when they talked about seeing each other again during the con. But he's here, and he's real, and he's leaning in so he can kiss Dean, softly and so achingly familiar it makes heat travel down Dean’s spine.

“Your eye,” Cas says, his face sad. “What happened?”

“John came by. Sorry you don't get to meet him. Jail doesn't allow him visitors yet,” Dean says with a wry smile.

Castiel’s fingers ghost over the bruise. “Sorry I wasn't there to help you,” he says.

“You're here now,” Dean says. He still can't believe it.

Cas smiles and cups the back of Dean's head with a warm, big hand. His eyes sparkle when he speaks. “Hello, Dean. I still have that handkerchief.”  
  
  
  


* * *

[Some Dean inspiration for you](https://images.app.goo.gl/hZyDyfiiwjikE9p26)  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was it, folks! I hope you enjoyed it! Do you think it's worth continuing this?
> 
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